Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister
by unicyclehippo
Summary: Rachel Berry has a half-sister who is hell bent on, wait, NOT destroying her life? Been described as paper-bag worthy hilarious, this story is for everyone. Parts fluffy, parts serious, parts sheer awesome: go on. Read it. You won't regret it.
1. Chapter 1

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter One**

**May I just say: I do not own Glee or any of the characters. My OC characters are mine, however, so ask before you use (if you want to. Seriously, just ask. I'll be flattered)**

**Please enjoy.**

My mother didn't say a word as she dropped me in front of the Berry household. Her hands were tight on the steering wheel and I knew she was restraining herself from leaping out of the car. Stopping herself from running into that house and scooping _The Rachel _into her arms. Instead she barely glanced at me and motioned for me to get out.

For a moment I wondered what she would do if I refused to get out. Refused to go along with her plan. But then I looked into her eyes and knew that what was left of my mother's love wasn't here in this car with me. I rolled my eyes and threw myself out of the car, grabbing my duffel bag and guitar.

"See you later, mum." I saluted her mockingly and let a smirk curl my lips when she glowered at me. I obviously stopped smiling when she turned a stupidly longing gaze towards the house. I slammed my car door shut and strode to the porch and didn't look back when she sped off, leaving me stranded here.

The door opened the second I stepped up to it. Of course they were a frickin' perfect family. Great. The man that greeted me, way too enthusiastically may I add, was tall, and _incredibly_ gay. His husband was smaller and had glasses and was slightly less obviously gay.

"You must be Jo!" I liked the Berry fathers. They seemed really nice and kind and I felt bad taking advantage of them like this. When it all turns topsy-turvy like I know it will, they will totally still like me. Sarcasm, if you didn't realise. Hiram bundled me up in a bear hug and I hid a wince behind a smile. These people were too easy, too trusting.

"Hello Mr Berry, and Mr Berry." I offered them a smile and they ushered me in eagerly. Eagerly, that is, until we were face-to-face with their love child. Rachel Barbara Berry. The most perfect person in the world. I stopped in front of her and extended a hand. I knew that I was pale and no doubt my smile looked like it belonged on a zombie but this was what I had to do. "Rachel, I presume?"

She smiled so widely I watched to see if her face would crack. It didn't. She gripped my hand before practically tossing it to the side and throwing herself at me, hugging me tightly. Like father, like daughter apparently. I glared at Hiram and, again, hid a wince. What was it with these people and personal space?

I went to introduce myself but she began to babble. "Wow, hi, it's so lovely to meet you. I'm so excited for you to live with us. My daddy and I have already set up the guest bedroom so you are free to explore that right now if you would like." She hesitated for the briefest second before diving headfirst into her next rant. "My dads told me that you grew up in New York. Was it amazing? New York is the city of my dreams. I'm so excited about going there and I will be a star one-day and perform on Broadway, like my idol – Barbara Streisand. Perhaps you would like to accompany me on one of my, what is sure to be, numerous visits to the city. Since you are well acquainted with New York, I feel that you would know how to be safe and would be an excellent tour guide. We could watch a Broadway show and you could take me to the best shops and eateries. Perhaps you know of a place that attends to the vegan diet?" She paused to take a breath and I finally had the presence of mind to hold up a hand. Sparing a glance at the parentals, who were no doubt mocking my ability to deal with this word vomit, I frowned at Rachel.

"What was that?"

She blushed and lowered her head in shame. "I'm sorry. I get nervous sometimes and I speak too much. I'm quite normal usually but I'm a little flustered. My dads love you." I ran a hand through my hair and clenched my left hand tightly so that I wouldn't feel the compulsion to tap my fingers against my leg – nervous tic. I ignored the fact that my fist was now tapping on my thigh and nodded to Rachel.

"Use less words. It's more efficient and I'm more likely to listen to you." She seemed a little hurt at my bluntness and I sighed. "I don't talk much when I'm nervous." _Which is always_, my mind whispered. She seemed to take this in and nodded before grabbing my hand and dragging me up the stairs.

"This is the guest room that we have prepared for you. I do hope that you like it." She took a step back and let me open the door. It wasn't anything special. The walls were cream and the bed was big, with a chocolate brown comforter, which I _loved_. I whispered that to Leroy who beamed at me and I felt my heart sink. These people were much too nice for this. I made a mental note to talk to Hiram later tonight.

Glancing around the room, I think I fell in love. There were shelves, and a large desk, and a beautiful bookcase. I itched to unpack all of my books onto the shelves and Rachel beamed and clapped her hands. "The bookcase was my idea," she said. "You said in your e-mails that you owned many books and I thought having a place to put them would make you feel more at home." I nodded and thanked her with a tiny smile. Thankfully they left before I could burst into tears.

I sat gently on my bed, and dropped my bag on the floor next to it. What the hell was I doing here? I collapsed sideways onto the extremely comfortable bed and stared, unblinking, up at the ceiling. I've done this ever since I was little. The first time I remember doing it was when I was seven and ignoring one of my mother's rants. I focus on something, anything, and put all of my attention towards it and after a little while everything else is sort of pale and insignificant and I can ignore voices or images really well. I'm also brilliant at repressing memories and emotions. I know, I know, you don't have to say it. I'm practically the poster-child for 'Healthy Teen Minds'. Okay so I'm a little messed up. Who isn't?

In this instance, however, I take the cake. My mother has manipulated me into posing as a tutor at McKinley High so that I can get close to Rachel and eventually reveal to her that my mother is her mother and that we are half-sisters and Rachel will love us even more than her own family and run away with my mother and they will live happily ever after.

I know what you're thinking – I am a _terrible_ person. That part is true I will admit, but relax. I'm not going to go through with it. I just want to know what kind of person Rachel is that has my mother ignoring me and making up all sorts of nefarious plans to steal back her long lost child. Yeah, I'm that kind of person. I use nefarious in common parlance. Oh, that wasn't what you were shocked by? Oh, you were shocked by the fact that I'm Rachel's half-sister. My bad, should have mentioned it earlier.

Josephine Maria Corcoran, but you can call me Jo. I have an evil mother who prefers a girl that she's never met to her living, breathing, present daughter, and I am an evil twenty year old posing as a tutor (although I really am a very good tutor) so that I can become close to my little baby half-sister so that my mother can steal her away.

**So, I'm not sure if I should continue this. Please review with anything. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter TWO**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, or any of the Glee verse. I do, however, own my OC characters so ask before you take. (Seriously, just ask. I'll be flattered). Please enjoy.**

I'd spent the entire afternoon playing a game I like to call 'avoid the Berry's'. They probably knew I was avoiding them because it really doesn't take four hours to unpack a single duffel bag's worth of clothing. Although I will admit that there are a phenomenal number of combinations that can be made with three pairs of blue jeans, three pairs of black jeans, ten tops and two jackets. At the moment, however, I'm just leaning against the door of the closet so that if someone comes into the room I can pretend I'm still unpacking.

After ten excruciatingly long and boring minutes of staring into the almost empty closet I give up and grab my guitar. This was, as it turns out, a mistake. In the brief moment between my strumming and beginning to tune, Rachel appeared in my doorway. I looked up at her, nodded once, and continued to tune. Apparently my nods now mean 'please enter my room and begin to speak incessantly' because that is exactly what she did.

"If you require any assistance with the proper tuning of your guitar I am happy to lend my expertise. I happen to have perfect pitch and I am well-versed in the mechanics of tuning instruments." She blathered on for a little while longer. Although she is my secret sister and I'm all for letting her blather on and I'm sure that I'll listen to her because I'm more of a listener than a speaker, she is interrupting my music time and because she's my _secret_ sister, which is a secret even for her, I turn all of my attention to my beloved guitar rather than her. I let her keep talking for a while before I stop tuning and strum gently. Perfectly tuned, of course. I guess that's something we have in common – perfect pitch. And an insane mother but she doesn't know that yet.

I wonder how much I'm allowed to say to her. As a secret sister, am I supposed to be abrasive and cruel in order to make her a better person (i.e., stop her from talking) or am I supposed to be sweet and loving and make her my best friend so that I can make her a better person. As a random tutor happening to share her house though, am I allowed to say 'when you're nervous you feel the urge to reassure yourself that you are worthy of attention and list the numerous talents you possess and because of this people think that you are egocentric and annoying'? I let myself smirk slightly because I would like to see her face if I ever did say that. But, of course, I don't say it because I'm almost positive she would freak out and I have a job to do here.

Instead, I focus all my attention back to the instrument in my hands and play a few random chords.

"How long have you played guitar?" I glanced up at her and shrugged.

"No length of time at all, and forever. Time is a figment of our imaginations." The words came out of their own accord and I heard my little Shelby voice shriek madly at me. _She won't befriend you if you are a freak!_ I shook my head even though it's true. Why on earth did I say that? She's going to think I'm some kind of geeky-nerd-freak. Instead I answer her question properly. "Almost eleven years." I frown, thinking about it, and nodded. "Almost eleven years. I started when I was ten."

She nodded absently.

"You're very good."

"And you're no longer nervous." I mentioned quietly. Her eyes widened and as she fumbled for a reply I continued. "I'm going to assume it's because you realised that I'm a nerd and also musically talented." I should feel sad when she nods because, of course she isn't intimidated and realises that she's so much better than this random geek-nerd-freak tutor and I _do _feel sad but I just smile at her. I couldn't help it – I swear! It's like my brain is screaming at me to stick to the plan but my body is singing and laughing that it had found it's sister. I have to admit, we do look quite similar. She has a different nose and was at least a head shorter than me but out hair looks to be the same colour and texture. I cut mine short three years ago and loved it so much that since then it's never gone past my shoulders, so that was different too. But other than that we both looked so much like Shelby that, I'll admit it, it hurt a little bit.

I suddenly realised that Rachel had been talking at me the whole time I'd been spaced out examining her and I blinked because she was frowning at me. Not in an angry way, just concerned.

"Huh?" I assumed she asked a question because she wasn't talking anymore. She rolled her eyes.

"My Dads would like to know if you are done avoiding us and whether you would like to eat dinner with us." I flushed at the confirmation that they knew I'd been purposefully avoiding them.

I just nodded and safely tucked my guitar back into its case. Rachel gave an approving nod and I got the feeling that if I hadn't she would have lectured me about the appropriate care of instruments. Right on time, as Rachel opened the bedroom door, my stomach grumbled loudly. Rachel laughed and I just smiled because I didn't have the heart to tell her it was because I hadn't eaten in almost two days. As it turns out, I wasn't going to eat for a little while longer because the Berry men escorted me to the living room instead and sat me down whilst exchanging nervous glances.

"Jo," Hiram began.

"We are very much aware of who you are," LeRoy continued. I frowned. Of course they knew who I was – I'd told them I was a tutor in need of a place to stay. Also, side note, it was cute that they were both participating in a speech that only needed one speaker. It was sort of like finishing each other's sentences, I guess. Back on topic, my stomach was gnawing at the lining of its fleshy cage (eating itself) and I desperately wished that we'd had this conversation over dinner.

"By that we mean that we know you are Rachel's half sister." And just like that I was glad we _weren't_ eating dinner because I'm pretty sure I just choked on my air. If I'd been eating I'd be dead right now… But now, ignoring the near-death experience, I let my eyes bore into Hiram's. I tried to will my eyes to convey the message that if they didn't continue with this train of thought they would be killed painfully. I think it worked because Hiram hurriedly began speaking.

"She has already been informed of this and is very happy for you to continue living with us." He glanced at his husband before timidly turning back to me. "We wanted to talk to you away from Rachel because we would like to ask you not to talk to her about Shelby." Apparently my gaze was still more homicidal than curious because he gulped and blathered on. "Not that there's anything wrong with Rachel knowing her mother" (actually, there is. She's a maniac…) "but we would appreciate being her only parents at least until her eighteenth birthday. Rachel has already agreed to this and we would very much appreciate it if you would refrain from mentioning your mother."

I watched them for a while before nodding once. "Of course. Your house, your rules." Hiram looked relieved but LeRoy watched me for a moment longer.

"And when you aren't in this house, we still expect you to abide by our request." Obviously I didn't scare him at all because he held my gaze steadily. I nodded again and he let his face fall into a relieved smile. I, on the other hand, tried to ignore the burning jealousy in my stomach. Rachel had two fathers who loved her desperately and now she was getting my mother as well. I stood abruptly, intent on trying to explode said girls head with my fury, when she entered the room.

"Well?" She looked at me expectantly, a hopeful glint in her eyes. I opened my mouth to snap at her when she continued. "Are we sisters now?" And suddenly I couldn't breathe. Because who the fuck cared if their parents sucked if they had brilliant siblings? Okay so I'm aware that I have issues and that eventually I would have to deal with my mother but at the moment it was all I could do to nod my head and say 'sister's' because I was trying to contain the massive fucking grin that threatened to spread across my face.

And for all you arseholes out there who are saying that I'm a pansy and all that – fuck you! All my life I've been told that I'd be lucky if Rachel would even give me the time of day and now for some reason she actually _wants_ me to be her sister? There was no fucking way in hell I would pass this up.

Thank god that thought sequence only took a few micro-seconds because Rachel launched herself at me and wrapped her limbs around me. I'm fairly certain I'm going deaf because she's squealing in my ear at pitches I didn't know existed (although I can recognise that they are perfectly pitched) but I don't really care because she's absolutely overjoyed and I caused that.

And now, of course, I feel like the worst person in the world because here are these amazing people and Shelby wants me to ruin their lives. I take a deep breath and use my processing skills to run through a few scenarios that, hypothetically, might exist if I were to ignore Shelby's instructions. And I like them. I particularly like the plan that tells me to ignore Shelby and to befriend Rachel, earn a shitload of money at this tutoring job and then, when Rachel graduates, take her to New York. There are a few problems in there that I haven't quite worked out – I just thought of the plan then, thank-you-very-much – but I'll figure it out.

For the moment I sit down and eat dinner with the Berry's and, to be honest, for the first time in a very long time I feel like I might belong somewhere. And if that's too sappy for you shitheads, think of it in this way: I get to annoy the fuck out of my bitch of a mother, and I get to hang out with the most amazing person ever. Plus, the Berry dads make _really_ good lasagne.

**So, that's Chapter Two. Sorry it took so long, this was really difficult and I couldn't decide whether or not Rachel already knew the Jo was her sister. Also, I've decided that the entirety of this will NOT be in Jo's voice, there will be some in Quinn's point of view, some in Santana maybe, and Rachel, and also some good old-fashioned third person POV. Hope you enjoyed it, let me know. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter THREE**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, or any of the Glee verse. I do, however, own my OC character so ask before you take. (Seriously, just ask. I'll be flattered.) Please enjoy. **

It's been two weeks since I've arrived at the Berry's. Also, it's the first day back at school for Rachel, and it's the first time that I am able to witness 'frantic Rachel'. Allow me to explain. In the short time that I have lived here I have been made aware of the fact that Rachel and her father, Leroy, are huge fans of lists. Like _major_ fans of lists. So a list or two describing what will happen during the day, planning shopping trips, and generally being ready for almost any eventuality is nothing new. This morning, however, I am faced with at least two dozen lists planning at least three different ways to deal with EVERY eventuality. Oh, and the Berry fathers scampered off to work two hours ago, leaving me to deal with Frantic Rachel after a cup of coffee. No joke – they let her caffeinate herself. I think they hate me.

Okay, no. Before we go any further I would like to explain that Daddy Leroy and Dad Hiram do NOT hate me, nor do they desire me to be killed by a caffeinated Rachel. That being said, they haven't exactly warmed up to me yet and I'm pretty sure that this morning is a test of some kind. I sigh at the thought and look over at Rachel who is still trying to fit _another_ change of clothes into her bag.

I ignore her lists. I don't read them unless they're written on red paper, which Rachel deemed to be 'my colour', and therefore all messages and lists designed for me are written on red. But I digress. I grab her bag and forcefully stuff the shirt into it, zipping the bag up quickly before anything takes the opportunity to bulge out.

"Planning on twelve costume changes today, Rach?" She just frowns at me and sweeps away into her closet. I chuckle and heft her bag onto my shoulder. "I'm putting your stuff in the car." I stagger downstairs (seriously, stagger. The bag must weight 40 pounds) and drop it into the boot of Hiram's car. I fiddle with the keys impatiently as I wait for Rachel. My shoulder twinges and I shake my head ruefully. A month ago I would never have thought I would be here – carrying my sisters' bags, driving her to school. Granted, not everything was perfect. Her dads still disliked me, and Rachel didn't know that I was telling Shelby that I was brainwashing the girl, and I was still having nightmares, but I loved that Rachel liked to spend time with me. Me, creepy loser older sister she never knew she had. I let myself smile and then sigh in relief when she finally comes out the front door.

"'Bout time, pipsqueak." I turn to face her and stop. "Um…Rach?" She glared at me, hands on hips, and I hesitate. I run a hand through my hair. Should I point it out? Maybe she wasn't paying attention when she put it on but that sweater was _awful_. I decide to settle on: "Are you sure you want to wear that to school?" She looks down at herself, up at me, and nods once before tucking herself into the front seat. "Right, okay then." I shake my head. I don't think I will ever understand this girl.

We arrive at the school bang on time (which was twenty minutes early actually, but Rachel insisted). Rachel was clutching at the door handle and at her seat and looked kind of pale. I roll my eyes. I didn't break too many speed limits. She was just being a baby.

"You should probably go to reception now." I look over at Rachel, who is fiddling with her backpack.

"You sure? I mean, that bad is twice your size. I'll carry it for you to your locker." I reach for it and she grabs it, pulls it to her sharply.

"No!" I pause. She yelled at me. Suddenly it dawns on me that she doesn't want to be seen with me. I let my face go perfectly blank as I watch her. Her eyes shift away from me and I sigh. I get it.

"Okay fine. I'll text your dads that we got here safe. Go to your locker." I turn away from her and wait for her to climb out of the car as I fiddle with my phone. I do send the text but I'm just waiting for her to get inside the school before I get out of the car and follow her. I hope Reception is nowhere near her locker because, though I knew that Rachel was a beloved star yadda yadda yadda, I didn't think she would just dismiss me like that. I hurt like a bitch and I'm pretty sure she would be able to see that if I were to walk past her right now. And, because I didn't want it to be, naturally reception was just down the hall from her locker. I ducked inside quickly to avoid Rachel seeing me. I certainly didn't want any pity from her at the moment.

I took a deep breath and smiled slightly at the lady behind the desk. She looks me up and down derisively and I wonder what she sees. Tall, tanned skin, plain. Jeans and a plain black hoodie. That's what I see – did she see a hooligan? An academic? I almost laugh at the thought of people seeing me as an academic I'm so used to being the quiet ninja loser at the back of the class.

"What do you want?" I blink at her rude tone and she raises an eyebrow. "Are you mute girl?" I suddenly snap out of my shock and glare at her.

"Jo Corcoran. The new tutor. I'm here to see Principal Figgins." She sighs and presses a button on her desk.

"The tutor's here to see you, Principal Figgins." She drawls in such a nasally and whining tone that I have to fight the urge to gouge at my ears. A crackling is the only answer from the intercom and she waves me at the door. "Go ahead." I roll my eyes again and move past her into the office. I crinkle my nose immediately – it smells like old man and, I pause. Dead skin? I shuddered. Was that even possible?

Figgins looks up at me and smiles. "Ah, Josephine Corcoran. It is truly a pleasure to have you at our school." I don't bother to correct him – _it's Jo, not Josephine_ – and look at him strangely. He spoke with a peculiar monotone that made my neck itch. "These are your students." He hands me a list and I tell myself to focus. Focus Jo. "You will be paid every Monday afternood." I nod and look down at the paper and memorise their names and photos. I glance over their grades.

"You've given me the potential dropouts." His face colours and he hems and haws before nodding.

"With your rather exceptional grades we thought you would have a greater chance of helping them." I resist the urge to glare at him and nod my head. It didn't really matter who I tutored – I would be out of here within the year anyway. "You also begin today. Most of your tutoring sessions will be every weekday after school but we will need you to work in-class with her everyday." He taps a photo and I nod. "Here is your schedule. Your time is appreciated." He looks down at his desk and I realise that was his dismissal. I roll my eyes (I'm going for a record today, apparently) and leave, swinging my satchel up onto my shoulder.

I leave the reception quickly and step out into the corridor in time to see a huge cup of red ice hit Rachel in the face. She just reaches up and wipes the ice out of her eyes with shaking, tiny hands and out eyes meet. She looks away hurriedly and I can feel myself shaking. I analyse my emotions. Sadness, yes, but slight. Fear, yes, but that's always there. I smirk. Fury. I faintly hear my schedule crumpling when I realise that I'm stalking down the hall. I slide into my place next to Rachel and drape an arm around her shoulder. Focusing my iciest glare on the Neanderthal who dared to slushie _my_ sister, I smirk.

"Hello." My smirk widens when he attempts to choke out a 'hi'. "Couldn't help but see what you did there." I squeeze Rachel's shoulder and glance down at her to show him what I mean. He has the stupidity to grin (I mean, really! I'm hugging her, and he thinks I'm proud of him? What an idiot) so I kick him swiftly in the balls. He lets out a highly satisfying wail and falls (in slow motion, may I add) to the ground, hands cupping himself protectively.

I consider kicking him again but instead I turn to Rachel and grab the bag from her locker. "I'm going to assume that this is what the extra clothes are for?" She nods silently and in the two weeks I've lived with her she's mostly been talking or humming constantly so I'm immediately shaking with rage again and concerned. I take her hand. "Where's the bathroom?" She tugs me down the hall, into a bathroom, and I set the bag on the counter. "This has happened before." It's a statement, not a question, because why would she be so thoroughly prepared for something if it hadn't happened before? She nods and suddenly her dismissal of me this morning makes more sense.

"You didn't want me to know? That's why you sent me away." She nods again, miserably, and I almost laugh because I'm so relieved. She wasn't embarrassed by me! I wipe the ice from below her eyes with a paper towel delicately and she looks away. "Do you want me to help you?"

"No thank you." I'm comforted by the fact that she's talking again and lean back. "I am well practised in the art of slushie removal." Instead of acting on the anger I feel at that, I jump back to sit on the counter. She looks at me strangely.

"What? I'm not going to leave you here looking like a freakin' teletubby just threw up on you. I'll be worried all day." I pull out my phone. "Tell me when you're done. I'm gonna gets my Tetris on." She stifles a giggle because, though it's been only two weeks, she already knows that I'm obsessed with the game. Just two nights ago I'd burst into her room just before midnight and woke her up to tell her I'd beat my high score.

For the next while the only sounds were the buzzing and beeping of Tetris, until she wiggled out of her hideous sweater and into another, equally foul, sweater.

"You wear them because you get slushied." She nods. Again, I'm understanding the girl. I fight the urge to punch the air in triumph because a) that's totally lame and b) inappropriate because Rachel is upset. Although, I really am glad that I'm learning about my sister. "Why do you get slushied?"

"I'm a Glee loser," she mumbles sadly as she wipes at remnants of ice on her neck.

I frown. "I thought that you were cool here." She barks a bitter laugh which stops when she sees that I'm being serious. Which, of course, I am. Shelby was furious at me when she learnt that I only had one friend at high school. _Rachel won't want a loser as a sister_ she had told me.

"Are you serious? I talk way too much, I sing all the time, I'm extremely opinionated and everyone hates me." She looks to be on the verge of tears so I hurriedly hold up my hands.

"Woah there! Okay, no crying." She sniffles. "Seriuosly? Don't cry, please. I like that you talk a lot because I don't talk enough and you are opinionated because normally you are right." She smiles slightly, shaking her head. "No, it's true, I swear! Plus, you're the best singer I know, so why not sing all the time?" She positively beams at that and I'm glad that I successfully averted that disaster.

She tugs at her sweater and pouts. "I hate these clothes," she whines and I nod, moving to stand next to her.

"They _are_ pretty foul." I lean against her and frown. "Seriously, what colour is that? Vomit?" She giggles and wrinkles her nose. "Ew Rach, a vomit sweater adorned by a unicorn. What a fantastic combination!" I add snarkily and she laughs properly. Finally! I smile at her and ruffle her hair. "Tell you what, Rach. I'll walk you to class and sit with you at lunch when I can and if anyone tries to slushie you I'll kick them in the balls, okay? That way you can wear your normal clothes from now on." She beams and launches herself at me, wrapping her arms around me tightly. I hear quiet 'thank you, thank you, thank you's being murmured into my hoodie.

She looks up at me. "You are the best thing that has ever happened to me." I flush, partly with guilt, and partly because that was actually the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, and chuckle awkwardly. I pat her on the head and she 'awws' softly. It's her turn now, apparently, to ruffle my hair. "So cute." I glare at her. "Sooooo cute." Now I growl in mock anger and stalk out of the bathroom.

"You're finished so I'm leaving now." She laughs after me and I shake my head. Stupid little sister says I'm adorable. I shake away the happy feeling and dig out my long forgotten schedule. Room 21. I knock on the nearest door.

"Do you know where Room 21 is?" I ask abruptly and the teacher glares at me while she explains. I salute her and break into a jog to get to class before everyone leaves – I need to meet my in-class tutor kid so I can talk to her. I skid to a halt outside the door and saunter in. This teacher glares at me as well and I smile disarmingly at him.

"Can I help you?" He asks grumpily and I bite my tongue to keep from swearing at him. _That won't help_ I remind myself and instead smile as sweetly as possible. _I hope you get diabetes_.

"Please, sir. I'm looking for a Brittany Pierce." At the name, two heads snap up to stare at me, a blonde and a brunette, both clad in red uniforms. Another blonde, also with a red uniform, slowly raises her head from her seat between the two. I note the protective nature of the girls and decide to mess with them a little. I smile at the girl in the middle and wave slightly. She frowns at me cutely but waves back hesitantly.

The teacher eyes me curiously but rolls his eyes at Brittany – rude. I glare at him and he gulps. I grab a chair and drag it over to the trio, moving in between the two blondes. Turning away from the blonde who is staring icy daggers at me, which I acknowledge could be potentially life endangering, I hold out my hand for Brittany to shake.

"Hi there." I ignore the teacher as well, who is practically pouting that his class is being disrupted. "I'm Jo." The girl beams at me and I wonder for a moment if we are related because _wow_ her grin is exactly the same as Rachel's.

"I'm Brittany." She responds cheerfully and shakes my hand excitedly. She turns and pulls her Latina friends hand up to shake mine, which I do briefly before she yanks it away. "This is Santana and that is Quinn." I look over at my shoulder at the scary blonde girl and nod with a smirk which makes her eyes flash even colder. I consider bringing a parka with me tomorrow.

The Latina girl growls – actually goddamn _growls_ at me – and looks me up and down. "What do you want with Brittany?" I look back at her for a minute before looking down at the books on the desk. Brittany's was covered in childish doodles of flowers and stickmen, while Quinn and Santana were frantically taking notes. I noticed that as Santana was interrogating me, Quinn was still writing. I look at a fourth notebook that held notes and nod at it.

"That's Brittany's notebook, right?" Santana doesn't answer but apparently it doesn't matter because Brittany is nodding next to me.

"Yup. Sanny and Quinn take notes for me." She smiles and leans her head on Santana's shoulder. The girl smiles at her before glaring at me again.

"What of it, bitch?" I just smile, take the notebook, and slip it into my satchel. Quinn and Santana freeze while Brittany pouts.

"That's mine." She fixes very blue eyes on me and pouts harder. "It's not nice to take other people's things. Sanny says it's mean." I nod reassuringly at her.

"You'll get it back." Quinn and Santana are about one second from leaping on me and, although I'm not scared, I certainly did not write 'get pummeled by two teenage cheerleaders today' in my diary. "I'm your tutor Brittany." She squeals and wraps her arms around my neck, which makes me tense. I don't hug her back and after a moment she either realises and withdraws or just gets bored of hugging me, because she moves away. I take a deep breath and centre myself. I smile. "That means that I want you to do your own work, and not let your friends do it for you, okay?" She nods eagerly for a moment then stops.

"What if I don't want a tutor?" Santana nods next to her and Brittany frowns. "I don't want you."

"Then you won't graduate." I lean my elbow on the table, blocking Quinn from the discussion and catch Brittany's eyes with mine so she won't look at Santana. "If you don't study and think for yourself then you won't graduate Brittany. Don't you want to graduate?"

She responds slowly this time. "Sanny will help me graduate. She won't let me fail." I nod slowly at her. I don't know who these girls are but they seem to be good friends. As a tutor though, they are ruining any chance this girl has of succeeding on her own.

"I'm sure that Sanny is the best." The Latina girl glares at me and I smirk. Obviously only Brittany can call her that. "But don't you want to know that you can graduate on your own? I'm sure that Sanny would be very proud of you." Brittany turns to Santana hopefully and, very reluctantly, Santana nods. I grin gleefully – on the inside, because I still don't want to get pummelled – at the thought that Santana is furious at this mysterious new tutor girl who is forcing her to change her ways.

"Of course I'd be proud of you Britt. I just don't want you to get hurt." Brittany beams and hugs her friend tightly.

"I can graduate. Of course I can graduate!" She is bouncing on her seat with excitement and then leaps at me again, wrapping arms around my shoulders. I stop breathing for a moment and force myself not to panic. She slides off of me and I grin at her, albeit weakly.

"Now that we've decided that you're going to graduate…" I hold out my hand again. "Hi, I'm Jo, your tutor." She shakes my hand somberly and I then hold my hand out to Santana. "Hi, I'm the person that will help your friend graduate." Santana glares at me and sneers at my hand. The bell rings loudly and suddenly and she sweeps past me.

"If you hurt her, I will go _all_ Lima Heights on your ass," she hisses in my ear. I tense at the tone and lock eyes with her. I know for a fact that my eyes are colder and harder than hers and, to her credit, she only falters for a moment before taking Brittany off to their next class. I wait for a moment and begin to follow them. I think I'll surprise her with the fact that I'm in all of Brittany's classes.

As I leave, Quinn steps out in front of me and I stare at her. "I'm just going to guess at what Santana said and second it. I have no idea who you are and I don't particularly care but Brittany is different." She pauses. "Brittany is better than anyone else and if you hurt her," her eyes burn at me. "Santana will be the least of your problems." I nod once and she relaxes slightly. "That being said, don't give up on her. She's not the easiest person to teach but she _isn't_ stupid." She says it so venomously that I'm certain that Brittany has been called that more times than can be counted. I just nod again, remembering the way the teacher had rolled his eyes at Brittany.

"She will graduate Quinn. I'll make sure of that." She eyes me suspiciously but nods.

"If you're new, I'll take you to your next class." I open my mouth to say 'how nice' but she glares at me. "It's for Brittany, not for you. You will not be late to classes and you _will_ help her." She leaves me at the door to the next class and nods at Santana who groans when she sees me. Brittany claps her hands and pats the open seat next to her.

I settle down, opening my books to get Brittany to start taking notes, and prepare myself for a full day of 1) ignoring Santana's glares, 2) teaching Brittany how to take notes (including the proper grip on writing materials other than crayons) and 3) protecting Rachel from slushies. This is going to be a long day.

On the bright side, all this exercise will make up for the early morning run that I missed this morning when caffeinated Rachel attacked me…

**And that was Chapter Three. Longer than the others, but mostly just fluff and introductory stuff. Still, I hope that you enjoyed it. Please review and let me know what you thought and anything that you would like to see. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter FOUR**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, or any of the Glee verse. I do, however, own my OC character so ask before you take. (Seriously, just ask. I'll be flattered.) Please enjoy. **

Finally, it's time to go home and, after placing a celebratory sticker on Brittany's notebook for her first successful day of tutoring, I race out of the room to meet Rachel at the car. She is standing there (thankfully in the same clothes I saw earlier – she hadn't been slushied!) waiting for me, but didn't have her bag.

"Are you okay? Did someone take your stuff or something?" She smiles and shakes her head no.

"Nothing like that. I was fairly sure that you would forget about this." I frown at her – forget about what? She laughs. "I have Glee this afternoon." She smiles when I slap my head and groan. I slap my head because who could forget that she's a part of Glee? It's just the thing she talks about 24/7. I groan because I remember that she wants to introduce me to her friends. I had successfully avoided them all day today with the excuse that I didn't know my way around school and kept getting lost but now I had no where to run. I vaguely realised that my left hand was frantically tapping against my thigh when Rachel grabbed it gently.

"They'll love you, I promise." She smiles widely. "Plus, I want you to meet my boyfriend." I stand up straighter and narrow my eyes, crossing my arms. She gulps because I let an evil smile grace my lips.

"Mr. Tall Handsome and Athletic?" It was a deviation of the traditional 'tall, dark and handsome' but apparently worked for Rachel because she was visibly swooning at the thought of her man. She nods and I uncross my arms, grab her hand and drag her back the school. "What are you waiting for then? Let's go." She laughs and wraps her arm around my waist, pulling my arm across her shoulders. I freeze for a moment, tensing, but relax and squeeze her shoulders.

She hesitates outside a door and I can hear muffled voices. I raise a brow and wait for her to talk to me as she so painfully wishes to do so. "Please be nice." I feel my jaw drop. _Nice? Of course I'll be nice – these are Rachel's friends_. I just nod and she smiles tightly before opening the door.

"Rachel!" The teacher immediately turns to my sister (I love that! My sister…) and frowns. "You're late." I tense at his rude tone – what was it with teachers at this place and not being able to at least _pretend_ to be nice? Rachel nudges me with her elbow and I make myself smile, vowing to berate him later for his obvious lack of professionalism and assholeness (and yes, that is now a real word).

"Sorry Mr. Schue." she began, obviously feeling guilty that he was upset with her, but I smoothly interject before she can say anything else.

"My fault sir. I distracted the little star." I smile at him – _die, curly-haired man!_ – and Rachel turns to me gratefully. He beams and I narrowed my eyes. Hopefully I have recently gained the power of death lasers in my eyes…when it becomes apparent that I haven't, I square my shoulders and tense because I _really _don't like him but force myself to relax. Rachel loves Glee. Do not screw this up for her! Rachel is bounding into the center of the room and I tae the time to send one last death glare at the teacher. Thankfully he doesn't see it because I don't want to have to explain to Rachel that he makes me nervous with his smiles and his happiness. Instead, I slide back to lean against the wall (read: hide in the corner) and watch the rest of the Gleeks.

To my surprise, the Trio from before are sitting up the back. Quinn is reading, Santana is painting her nails, and Brittany seems to be staring at the ceiling. I move on. There's a supremely gay boy sitting next to an equally gay, if slightly more masculine, boy who is talking to a brightly dressed 'Sweet Chocolate' girl (as I hear a mohawked boy call her). An Asian couple are making goo-goo eyes at each other while a boy in a wheelchair is talking to a giant of a boy who is banging on the drum set. I wince – who had the bright idea of teaching him to do that? I shake myself out of my thoughts when Rach stamps her foot to get everyone's attention.

"Everyone! I would like to introduce you to someone very special." She turns to look for me and I let her tug me forward.

"Oh hell no!" I smirk at Santana because this must really suck for her. She must think I'm stalking her now.

"I will assume that you are already acquainted then, Santana? For the rest of you, it is my great pleasure to present to you Jo Corcoran." She pauses for a tiny moment before saying, "my very good friend." I fix a smile on my face and ignore the tightening in my chest, smiling at the others.

_Of course she wouldn't introduce you as her sister. You suddenly arrive in her life and think she'll change everything for you? Aren't you Little Miss Ego today? _I sigh. I hate my inner bitch. _Why on earth would she introduce you to her best friends when, for all she knows, you might be gone next week? It's a good thing that she's at least acknowledging you. You are lucky she even wants to do that!_ I stop myself from nodding in agreement when I realise that everyone's staring at me. I'd been zoned out for a while, apparently. Santana laughs brashly and I blush, turning to Rachel.

"Mr. Schuester asked you to sing something for us." I dig my hands into the pocket of my jeans and shake my head no.

"I don't sing." Rachel widens her eyes, aghast.

"But you have perfect pitch and such good taste in music and an innate musical talent! What a waste!" She seems to be trying to talk but the words are stopping in her throat and she's just opening and closing her mouth. She holds up a hand and takes a deep breath. "Excuse me while I storm out in outrage. I'll be back in a few minutes." I nod easily. She's done this a couple of times at home. While she's gone I consider informing her that I can sing, but choose not to, but disregard it immediately. She'd have me singing before the end of the week.

"I must inform you that this is a performing club. You can't join if you don't audition." Rachel is returns at that moment and laughs. I smile at her but wipe it from my face before I turn back to the teacher. That smile is not for him. I don't like him.

"I'm not here to join. I've already graduated. I'm here to support Rach and," I look over to her because we haven't discussed this, "maybe join as an advisor?" Before Schuester could speak, Santana groaned.

"Okay, let me just say this. No. Absolutely not. Berry managed to buy herself a pet monkey, go her. But do not let her become an 'advisor' or she'll be crapping Broadway out her arse and lobbing it at us." Brittany chuckles at the image and I frown. _I guess being in Glee doesn't make Santana Rachel's friend_.

Gay boy speaks up. "It's true Mr. Schue. This new girl will support every little whim of Rachels and every storm out. Were you asleep before? She let Rachel storm out happily! Then she'll give every solo to her as well. We can't trust her and give Rachel all the power here." I watch as almost everyone nods at his words and/or glares at Rachel. I feel my hackles (hypothetical hackles, that is) rise.

"You lied to me Rach." I lean down and whisper in her ear. "These people aren't your friends. They're assholes." Her shoulders slump. "Your boyfriend late or something?" She shakes her head slowly and points towards the monkey boy sitting by the drums. My eyes widen and, surprised, I laugh out loud. "You can't be serious."

"Something you want to share" My head snaps up and I stare at Sweet Chocolate. I smile easily and flick the ON switch for my bitch to come out and play.

"Oh, not really. I was just telling Rachel that she must be honestly deluded if she think I'm going to advise you guys." Everyone smiles triumphantly at Rachel who slumps even more if possible. "I mean, why would I share the knowledge and expertise I've gained from living in New York, having a vocal coach as a mother, and assisting in the musical threatre program for youths since I was seven." I can see the flicker of surprise and excitement flicker over Gay Boy's face. Gay Boy seemed sceptical, until he took a look over my clothes. They were plain jeans and a jacket, but I knew that he could tell that they were expensive and well made. It seemed to convince him because suddenly he couldn't speak fast enough.

"We would absolutely _love_ to have your expertise!" Gay Boy stood and made as if to touch me so I glared him back to his seat. "Obviously, you know all about what it takes to win so Rachel wouldn't get all of the solos and our choreography could be improved which I'm sure you know all about. Wow, I'm thrilled to have you here! You don't have to stand with Rachel" he waved at his friend with a 'move Mercedes!' and smiled up at me. "Come sit with us. Rachel is lacking in some areas of the social network here at McKinley, as well as the clothing area so we'd be delighted to take you shopping and to assist you at school." I gape at him. Did 'good friend of Rachel's' really mean 'you should insult her to my face'? Did that _really_ seem like the best way to go about keeping me here?

"I would give every solo to Rachel because she deserves it and works for it. I'm also seeing a distinct lack of talent in this room." Gay Boys face falls and he shoots a glare at Rachel. "As it stands, an advisor doesn't make those decisions. They _advise_," I drawl. "I would be here to _advise_ and watch and support." Almost immediately there was a unanimous head nodding and Schuester was watching it dazedly.

"Well!" He claps his hands. I hate him already. "I guess you're the new Glee advisor. Welcome."

"Yes, welcome." Santana sneers from the corner. Brittany waves and I smile at her, even when Santana frowns and takes her hand. Quinn doesn't look up from her book and I realise that she hadn't taken part in the conversation at all. I've no time to think about it however, because Gay Boy – whose name I find out is Kurt – is lounging in his seat and questioning Rachel.

"So how long have you and your _friend_," he says that with a touch of awe and derision (derision because I'm her friend? I will punch that boy in the nose some time soon) "been hanging out together?" His finger does a little wiggle between us and I frown at him.

"About three weeks." I answer for Rachel. "I'm living with her while I tutor at McKinley." His jaw drops and his eyes bulge.

"Three weeks?" I nod. "I'm impressed. How have you possibly survived that long without trying to strangle her?" He laughs and Sweet Chocolate ( I think I'm going to rename her Chocolate bitch…) joins him. I take a deep breath to calm myself, which obviously doesn't work because Kurt now looks like he's about to wet himself.

"Rachel is a really great person and I am thrilled to know her. I am really enjoying living with her." I'm almost growling the words but I don't care. I wish that I could turn green and smash things but apparently its illegal and I don't want to get arrested on the first day for damaging school property and murder. Maybe on the second day…

"Well I think it's great that Rachel has a friend." Bumbling giant monkey boy stands and hugs Rachel tightly before giving her a chaste kiss. I fight the urge to punch him in the nose because 1) I don't think I could reach and 2) Rachel is positively beaming now.

"Finn, I would like to introduce you to my very good friend Jo. Jo, this is my boyfriend Finn." The tightening in my chest has returned at the reminder that at school I am not her sister, but she's directing her megawatt grin at me and I smile. My eyes, however, are screaming something along the lines of _this idiot? What could possibly possess you to date him?_ He puffs himself up and extends a hand towards me.

"Finn Hudson, quarterback." I nod. Of course, popularity. Doesn't seem to be doing much for her though – slushies, no friends, and he doesn't even stand up for her when the Gleeks are picking on her. I ignore his hand for a moment, much like I'm ignoring the 'be nice' pleading coming from Rachel's eyes, and look him up and down slowly. I get the 'Tall', but handsome and athletic? He looks like the Michelin Man made of marshmallows. I take his hand very, very slowly and smile.

"Jo Corcoran. Rachel's friend." I force the words out and I notice that she does look a little guilty. I give her a little reassuring smile because I'm not angry with her, really! I'm not. I was just disappointed. I retract my hand and wipe it on my jeans and turn away. Mr. Schuester is getting them all to sit down and Rachel is next to Finn and I don't want to sit with Kurt and Chocolate Bitch. Brittany is bouncing in her seat and patting the one next to her, so I take it gratefully. She grabs my hand and squeezes it gently, nudging me with her shoulder. I smile at her and nod, which makes Santana yank Brittany away and hold both of her hands. I smile (ah, young love…) and settle into my seat. I have the feeling that it's going to be a long afternoon and I sigh. Bring it on universe. Do your worst.

**So that was Chapter Four. Tell me what you thought, ask questions, say hi, tell me if you want me to include something in the story (I will tell you now that ducks will be making an appearance, just for Brittany fans) and anything else you'd like to say. Hope you enjoyed it, I hope to have the next chapter up soon – it will include a fight. Guess who? Have a great day :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter FIVE**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, or any of the Glee verse. I do, however, own my OC character so ask before you take. (Seriously, just ask. I'll be flattered.) Please enjoy. **

Why would I tempt fate? How stupid can I get? 'Bring it on universe? Do your worst?' How stupid am I? Obviously, I haven't yet learnt that the universe despises me for some unknown reason – I like to think that it's jealous of my devastatingly good looks and roguish charm…the point I'm trying to make, is: universe hates me. I hate universe. Glad we've got that covered.

Why am I pondering my hatred of the universe? Because one Santana Lopez, whom I personally have nothing against, is harassing me. Glee is over, Rachel has gone to find her stuff and bat her eyelashes at Snow White's Seventh Dwarf (Dopey, if you didn't know), and I am exhausted, hungry, and hurt by Rachel's avoidance of the subject of the fact that I'm her sister. I somehow muster the strength to listen to what she's staying and, thank god I'm so tired because I don't have the energy to listen and to roll my eyes at her.

"Stay away from Brittany." Santana was growling, and shoulder checked me viciously as she passes me to leave the choir room. I consider not answering but we should probably get this all out now so that I don't have to waste time later fighting with her when I should be tutoring Brittany.

"No can do Lopez. I'm her tutor now." I smile, but have the inkling that it either looks like a predatory smirk, or Santana thinks it does. I don't have much practice with the _nice_ smiles. She is in front of me immediately and a moment later my back is pressed against the metal locker, and her index finger is poking me in the chest.

"You don't want to push me, Freak. I can ruin your life faster than Finn can cry mailman." I personally don't understand the reference, but Brittany is chuckling and nodding, so I let it go and assume that it's pretty fast. I'll ask Rachel later. I bat Santana's hand away from me and glance over at Brittany whose eyes are darting anxiously between Santana and me. I know that some people think that she's stupid (even thinking about it makes me angry! I've only known her for a day and I'm protective of her. I mean, who wouldn't? She's adorable…) but I know that Brittany can read people easily. I don't want to worry her so I let the tension in my body ease. She relaxes slightly and I smile at her. She's adorable.

"I don't know _why_ you aren't paying attention to me, Freak, but" she notices that I'm smiling at Brittany and growls again, shoving me harder against the lockers. A lock is digging into my shoulder and I know I'll have a bruise. "That's enough! I'm gonna go _all_ Lima Heights on you!" She raises a fist threateningly and I shake my head.

"Relax Lopez. I'm not going to touch your girl, okay?" I move to leave but find myself slammed up against the locker. Again. I think locker 322 and I are going to be very well acquainted this afternoon…

"What did you mean by that?" I sigh and lower my voice.

"I meant that I'm not going to touch the girl that you are head-over-heels in love with. I'm not that much of a bitch. I'm just tutoring her, that's all." I was trying to be reassuring but apparently she didn't want any of it because she grabbed the front of my jacket with both hands and pulled me chose.

"I am _not_ gay." Her eyes were panicked under all the anger and I nod.

"Okay then." She peels her hands away and scowls at me.

"No one would listen to you anyway. I mean, look at you." I don't look at myself. I'm quite well aware of what I look like. "You're pathetic. I can't believe Berry had to get a friend that was even more pathetic than she is." My hands clench into fists, but I ignore the flash of anger that pulses through me. I know she saw it though because she smirks. "You were so upset when she called you her friend. Wanted her to call you something else did you?" I'm shocked – how could she possibly know that "Her little girlfriend perhaps? Everyone knows that a summer friend is a summer fuck buddy." I relax. Nah, she didn't know that we're sisters. Fuck – for a moment there I thought she was psychic. I almost want to smile but although she's wrong about out relationship, she is scarily accurate with feelings. And there was everyone else thinking that she didn't have any feelings…I'd heard them – Satan seemed to be a fitting nickname.

"Maybe friends are all fuck buddies for you Lopez, but not for the rest of us. Rachel and I are just friends." She took her time thinking about it before smirking.

"You know what? I actually believe you. Want to know why?" I shrug, apathetic. I actually just want to go to sleep and forget that I ever met this girl. She's quite good at making me depressed. "I believe that because I thought that Berry was the lowest of the low. Colour me impressed when I was proven wrong." She looked me up and down again. "Even Rachel Berry wouldn't go down to that level. Or down _on_ that level." She smirks but I just roll my eyes. Her next words cut deep. "I never thought I'd say this but, Rachel Berry is so much better than you. And the saddest thing about all of this is that you know it too." I bite my tongue and breath in through my nose sharply. I was _not _going to retaliate. Just because she said the clear and hurtful truth didn't mean that I had to do the same. Well, my brain knew that but obviously my mouth did not.

"Oh you mean like Brittany is too good for you?" When her face went purple with rage my heart suck and I was glad that I'd kept my voice low. I'd only wanted to hurt the girl, not out her. I prepared myself for the pummelling to come and didn't even wince at the sharp fist with my chin. My head snapped up and I felt my head hit the locker – see? I told you we'd be well acquainted – and I think I blacked out for a moment because the next thing I know I'm crouched on the floor, arms blocking my face protectively. Other than that, I'm not fighting back, and I'm not moving. Her foot connects with my chest and I just roll with the momentum. Brittany manages to grab her friend. I stand slowly.

"That's enough Santana!" She sounds seriously pissed and Santana immediately stops struggling when she realises who is holding her. It would be cute, the way she melts into Brittany, except for the fact that Brittany is angry. I ignore the flare of pain from where my back hit the lock and smile at Brittany.

"Thank you Brittany." She lets go of Santana to hug me. Bad idea. Santana is flying at me again and I feel two more of her punches on my face and a few more at my chest before she knees me in the groin. Let me point out here that, while I don't have the same, um, _equipment_ that guys have, it still hurts to be kneed in the groin. Seriously. It really hurts.

I don't block any of her attacks though, mostly because my conscience is telling me _you deserve this. It was mean of you to say those things to her – I mean, really! She is obviously deep _deep_ in the closet. It was just cruel of you to hit her where it hurts. _When I attempt to point out to my conscience that she started it, I ignore myself and tell myself to finish it. Now. (And if that confused you at all, don't worry. I confuse me too.)

Brittany has managed to grab Santana again and apparently she's worked out most of her anger because she's no longer flailing or screaming in Spanish. Which, obviously, I understand since I will be tutoring Brittany in Spanish. I don't think she knew that though, but she was yelling quite inventive things. My personal favourite was 'I will rip your ears off and feed them to Brittany's cat'. It was quite intimidating.

I stand gingerly and touch a finger to my lip, which has split open. I sigh and pull out my phone.

** To Rachel Berry: Delayed at school. Catch a lift with Finn?**

I may not like him (like, at _all_. Seriously, I don't know the guy and I already hate him. And no, I'm not jealous that he knows my sister better than I do, or that he gets to spend time with her. Okay, maybe a little, but mostly I just really dislike him. I don't know what it is, but he kind of reminds me of a constipated puppy…). As I was saying, I may not like him but he sure is convenient at the moment. I'm sure that Rachel will jump at the opportunity to spend time with her boyfriend. Sure enough, I get a text back a few seconds later.

**From Rachel Berry: Okay. See you at home. Talk soon?**

**To Rachel Berry: Affirmative. See you soon.**

I look up from my phone. Brittany and Santana are smiling and glaring at me, respectively.

"Sanny's really sorry Jo." Brittany smiles at me and jabs Santana hard with a finger. Santana winces but says nothing. I run my tongue across my lip and grimace at the taste of copper.

"She isn't sorry, Brittany." The girls face falls.

"Oh." She stares at the ground and kicks the floor with her foot. Despite her Cheerio's uniform (they're like a gang at McKinley – it's super weird. Apparently they're allowed to do whatever they want to) she looks very innocent and young. "Does this mean that I don't get anymore stickers?" Santana knows what this means because she stiffens next to her and refuses to meet my eyes. She knows, but I don't, and I suddenly feel very left out.

"What do you mean, Brittany?"

"You're not going to teach me anymore, so I won't get any stickers on my notebook." Her eyes fill with tears. "No one ever likes teaching me. I'm stupid." Santana turns in Brittany's grip and wraps her arms tight around her blonde friend, whispering in her ear. Her hand strokes up and down the girls arm soothingly. When Brittany looks up at me, crying, I have never – and I mean _never_ – wanted to cheer someone up more in my entire life. Damn girls and their tears! Santana death glare was an added incentive to cheer her up, I will admit.

"Brittany. You're not getting rid of me that easily. I'll be tutoring you tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that, but not the next day because that's Saturday, but then for as long as you need me to." Her bottom lip wobbles a little and I tilt my head, making her look at me. "Okay?"

She sniffles. "Are you sure? Sanny punched you in the face." I think I surprise her when I laugh and gingerly touch my cheek. I'm pretty sure it's already bruising actually.

"I've had worse sweetie." I smile cheekily at her and she smiles back, sniffing.

"Can Sanny still sit with us?" Before Santana can even react to that I'm nodding.

"Of course she can." I let my gaze move to Santana who is watching me with a frown before focusing on Brittany. "It was as much my fault as it was hers, in my opinion. I said some pretty mean things to her Britt. So, if I promise to never say them again and I apologise, and she promises to try not to hit me, do you think she'd like to sit with us in class? I'd like her to, wouldn't you?"

I lock eyes with Santana who glares at me, obviously battling with her pride and her need to be beside Brittany at all times. With the assistance of still-teary blue eyes, her desire to see Brittany happy wins out because she grudgingly nods and mumbles something that could, conceivably, have been 'I won't hit you again.' She follows it with a sneer but hey, it's good enough. My swelling cheek appreciates the effort.

I just smile. "Well then. I'm sorry for what I said and I won't say it again. Unless you want to talk about it." I say it easily and without any kind of inflection so when her head snaps up and her eyes widen, I just smile. She nods very _very_ slowly. "Oh, and Brittany. You should put some ice on Santana's hands." I smirk. "I've got abs of steel and she probably bruised herself." Brittany grabs both of Santana's hands in hers and beams at me. "See you tomorrow Britt. And you too Sanny." I chuckle when 'Sanny' flips me the bird and wave at Brittany. I'm almost around the corner when I turn and, cupping my hands around my mouth, yell out to Brittany.

"Brittany! What's your favourite animal?"

She frowns. "Ducks. Duh." I nod. Of course. I don't slap myself on the head for my forgetfulness, because it would really hurt with these bruises, but it _is_ kind of obvious. Her backpack is covered in the creatures, and the eraser on the end of her pencil is a duck, and the key ring on her duck bag is a duck, and I think I saw a drawing of a duck in her locker when we stopped there after lunch. I roll my eyes. I'm getting slow in my old age.

I leave then, because Santana is staring at how her hand is entwined with Brittany's and she looks hopeful and utterly confused and a little sick. It's a little painful to watch the play of emotions so I just turn away and open the door, only wincing a little when the movement makes my bruises twinge. I take a deep breath when I get out of the school and glare at the sky.

_I hope that was your worst, universe, God, because I really despise being pummelled. Please take into account my hatred of being pummelled in the future and let me avoid it. Yours sincerely, Jo Corcoran. _

I drive slowly back to the Berry household, trying to avoid all the potholes that maliciously spring into existence on the road, and manage to sneak into my room without Rachel seeing me. I remember that she wanted to talk, and I can hear my stomach grumbling, but my bed looks so inviting and so, without further ado, I crawl on top of it and collapse. Talk later. Eat later. Sleep now.

**So. Chapter Five. There you have it. I hope you enjoyed it, because I'm having a bunch of fun writing it. Let me know what you thought (please review). Much love, and happy reading :) **


	6. Chapter 6

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter SIX**

**May I just say: I do not own Glee or any of the characters. My OC characters are mine, however, so ask before you use (if you want to. Seriously, just ask. I'll be flattered)**

**Please enjoy.**

_The belt cracks down once more and this time I bite down heavily on my tongue to stop from crying out. I sob silently into the carpet when rough hands grab my shoulders and lift me from the floor. He's moving me somewhere. I know where and, as much as I don't want to go back in there, I'm in no shape to fight him. He shoves me in and my inflamed, shirtless back grazes against the splintered wood with a sharp burn. I stifle a moan of pain because I know he would hear me and have no qualms in punishing me again. I shift slightly, trying to take the pressure off my back but my elbow slips, slamming into the side of the cupboard. I hold my breath though I know it's no use. He's heard me. I hear the heavy footsteps before the door slams open and he reaches in angrily to pull me out. He grabs me by the scruff of the neck and I raise my hands and scream—_

—and sit up in my bed. I'm shaking and sweating and, when I lay back down I feel sudden nausea twist my stomach. I leap up and sprint into the bathroom. I manage to contain it all in the toilet bowl, thank god, because I'm really not in the mood to clean right now. I lift my hand weakly to flush and lean my head against the cool porcelain, whilst trying to avoid the raised bruises on my cheek and brow. I recall the details of my nightmare and shudder. I retch again into the toilet until nothing but bile comes up. I don't feel any better, just sick and empty.

"Jo?" I flinch, raising my eyes slowly to the concerned brown of Rachel's. They look so similar to Shelby's, I think hazily, before my mind darkly corrects me. Shelby has never looked at me like that – never with the care or concern I see. She's never cared. I focus again because Rachel takes a step into our shared bathroom and crouches next to me. She lays a hand on my back, between my shoulder blades, and I flinch again, strongly enough that it seems like I'm shrugging her off. If that's what she thinks I don't correct her. How would I explain to her that I can hardly tolerate people touching me during the day when I can see them coming, let alone after a nightmare and at god-knows-what-time in the morning? I don't want to tell her that I'm sure I can still feel my skin raw and bleeding, and the feel of his hands around my neck, so I just don't say anything. I just sit there and breathe slowly to calm my racing heart.

Rachel doesn't seem upset or scared. She just seems worried, which is nice of her. She straightens from her crouch and runs cold water over a hand towel, wiping my face with it carefully. It feels nice so I let her, but I close my eyes so I don't have to see her frown at me. Even if I know it's because she's worried – I've been throwing up and I have some lovely bruises – I still don't want her frowning at me.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Her voice is quiet and calm. I feel myself relaxing with every stroke of the cloth.

"It was just a nightmare Rach." I make my voice light but firm, which is a feat of remarkable proportions when I feel like someone has run sandpaper over my oesophagus. Still, if it had shaken even the tiniest bit, I knew she would be able to hear it. As it was, I knew she didn't believe me. That didn't matter. What mattered what that she wasn't able to see any evidence that I wasn't okay. I don't think throwing up counts because people do that all the time (admittedly, usually when sick or drunk or pregnant and not after a nightmare but that's not the point).

I ignored the aching of my ribs (bruised, not broken) and smiled at Rachel. "Change the topic please?" She sighed before narrowing her eyes at my bruises. She traces one gently.

"What happened here?" I refuse to wince when her fingertips graze over the one on my cheek. "You didn't have these yesterday." I fight the snarky voice that's saying _yes I did, you just didn't see them because I snuck into my room like an awesome ninja_. Instead I smile weakly and try again.

"Change of topic, please?" She hesitates but shakes her head firmly.

"No. Either you talk about whatever made you throw up in the toilet or you tell me about the bruises." Since I don't want to talk about either, I give myself permission to snap at her.

"That's a bit presumptuous of you, don't you think Berry? Asking a _friend_ such personal things?"

"I think it would actually make it easier than asking a sister who has been absent for my whole life." I frown at her because _dammit_ if she wasn't right. "And I'm sorry for not asking you how you wanted to be introduced, if that's what you're hinting at." She pulls her hand back from my face and shrugs. "I guess I thought it would be easier to accept that I have a friend rather than a sister no one had ever heard of." I close my eyes and groan/chuckle.

"Of course you have a perfectly adequate reason for not calling me your sister." I crack one eyelid and glare playfully at her. "You do realise that you make it very difficult to dislike you, don't you?" I grin at her but it falls slowly as I think about why I had been so upset that I was just a friend. "I'm sorry Rach. I know it's difficult for you because you didn't know about me and I know that you don't want to have to explain all that to your friends. I just thought…" I trail off, not wanting to say it out aloud in case she agreed.

"What?" She's pressing so I shrug and look away.

"I just thought that maybe you didn't want anyone to know because you didn't want me as a sister." I look back quickly when she makes a strange choking sound. Her eyes are wide and she's covering her mouth in shock.

"Are you serious?" She whispers. "I've always wanted a sister! Or a brother, I wasn't very picky, but you're better than anything I dreamed because you're _real_." She grips my hand tightly and laughs. "Why is it that the most intense conversations I have all take place in bathrooms?" I frown – I don't understand the reference. Fair enough. I mean, I have missed seventeen years of her life. I can't expect to understand everything. She grips my hand tighter and smiles. "I'm sorry I made you think that." She looks suddenly shy and I fight the urge to ruffle her hair because this is a serious conversation now. "I also thought that it would be good if we were friends, maybe best friends, as well as sister?" She doesn't meet my eyes so I just squeeze her hand back and murmur a quiet 'I'd like that.'

We sit in silence for a while before she scares me by gasping. "Jo! While I applaud your considerable skill at deflection, I would appreciate it if you would answer my question now." I let my eyes widen and adopt an innocent expression.

"What question?" She scowls fiercely and I grin. "Chill Superstar, I'm just kidding." She pouts. "Fine. I choose bruises." A look that I can't decipher flickers over her face but she nods and settles onto the cold tiles, apparently assuming the 'listening' position.

"It's a funny story, really." I start, trying to stall so I can figure out how to tell her that Santana packs a hell of a punch. As per usual, my mouth starts talking before my brain catches up. "Santana packs a hell of a punch. Fuck. That's not how I wanted to say it." She's gaping at me, and she's purpling a little bit, so I hold up a hand and make a 'rewind' gesture. I start again. "I said something to Santana which she took offensively, she was quite upset and defensive which leads to the moment in which I discovered that she has an impressively powerful right hook. This was followed by a moment in which apologies were made by both parties and now everything is fine and dandy and I'm fine and Santana is fine and I'm sorry?" I say it quickly, and without breathing because I don't want her to interrupt, and she's still gaping at me and I'm not sure whether she's breathing. Apparently not, because she sucks in a deep breath when I'm done. She takes a few moments to think, seriously considering her words.

"Firstly, I am extremely impressed by your breath control which leads me to believe that you were lying when you said you didn't sing." I roll my eyes. Of course she would pay attention to that. "Secondly, did want you say to Santana involve her sexuality or Brittany?" I wince.

"A little bit of both?" Rachel winces as well. "But I didn't say anything mean about Brittany. I wouldn't do that. I'm her tutor now and I know a lot of people say she's stupid but she isn't." Rachel raises her eyebrows at that information and I realise that she has no idea what I do at the school. She nods so I continue. "I actually think she's adorable. And she _is_ smart – not in the way that most people are smart but she does know things and I am entirely convinced that she just needs the chance to prove that she can learn. I know that I can teach her, I just need to find the right way to do it." Rachel smiles at that, at my description of Brittany or my rambling I'm not sure which, but it's wiped off her face by another frown.

"Look, Jo…I know that you haven't been a part of this family for very long but I _do_ know that you are aware the fact that my fathers are gay." I resist the urge to scoff. I nod instead. "You come from New York where, if not accepted by everyone, being gay is at least ignored and mostly tolerated. This is Lima. It's a small town and most people still regard homosexuality as a sin. I have no doubt that Santana is struggling with her sexuality and frankly, I am appalled that you would make her feel that being a homosexual is not okay." I shake my head.

"Rach, no. You've got the wrong idea. I didn't call her a dyke or a lesso or something like that." My lips curl up – I hate those names. "I merely mentioned that she was in love with Brittany. I wouldn't out her or insult her or anything." She's still eyeing my suspiciously so I sigh. "I'm gay, okay? I really wouldn't hurt her because of who she is." She deflates and quirks a smile at me.

"Okay then. I'm sorry. It's just, my dads and I have dealt with a great deal of homophobia in this town and while I know that Santana and I aren't exactly friends, I wouldn't wish that on her before she's fully prepared herself to deal with it." I nod along with her. "Wait." She turns back to me suspiciously. Oh god, what have I done now? "Did you say that Santana _apologised_? I smirked.

"Brittany insisted." I made a 'whipped' noise and Rachel giggled.

"They are very cute together." I nod and she nods and we both relax. We sit in silence until I finally shiver and she notices. I let her pull me to my feet and we shuffle into my room. I collapse onto the huge bed and take her hand, pulling her down next to me. We lie there for a while.

"Thank you Rach." She shrugs.

"OF course. Looking after each other is what sisters do. Plus, I kind of owe you for protecting me today from being slushied. I usually get four or five slushies on the first day but since you kicked him in the, um, parts, no one bothered me." I grinned widely. Yeah, I was just _that_ awesome. Another though occurs to me and I wince.

"Are your dads angry with me? I mean, I missed dinner, and after dinner family time and-" she cuts me off.

"They aren't angry. They're quite impressed with how you handled today, though they would like to emphasis that they do not condone violence of any kind." She says primly. I sigh in relief. Then I swear.

"I knew today was a test!" I flip over and glare at her – my patented 'tell me all your secrets now' glare. "Did I pass their test? Are they cool with me now?"

Rachel just laughs. "Whatever the test was, you passed. Daddy came upstairs earlier to check on you, and Dad was considering baking a 'You are our Daughter's Hero' cake for you." I beam. I like the sound of that. Not the cake, although the cake does sound good. No – the 'check up on you'. I've been 'checked on' before, by people who assumed that I was going to do something wrong, but I don't think I've ever had anyone 'check up on me' to make sure that I was okay. Rachel clears her throat so I turn to her. I raise a brow because she looks slightly uncomfortable.

"So, what did you think of Finn?" I stare at her. Who the hell is Finn? "My boyfriend?" My eyes widen. Of course…Finn. My bad. Shit, how can I say 'your boyfriend is tall and pudgy and seems like a bit of an idiot' in a nice way?

"He seems nice." That's all she needed because she went into a 'Finn is amazing' rant and I sigh. Hopefully I'll fall asleep soon so I don't have to endure much more of this.

I don't sleep well after that and, when I do finally drift off, it's four a.m. I stagger downstairs when my alarm goes off and Leroy gasps at the sight of my face.

"What happened to you?" Hiram hurries to find an icepack and I sit uncomfortably as they fuss over me. I'm tempted to bat them away and hide in the corner because I'm still feeling vulnerable from last night's nightmare but at the same time their genuine care is nice so I let them fuss away.

Rachel freaks out when she comes downstairs and sees that I'm not ready. I allow myself to be ushered upstairs while she shrieks something about being behind in my morning ritual and she'll make breakfast for me. I roll my eyes and see Leroy and Hiram rolling their eyes but they wave goodbye cheerily to me when they leave for work and make me promise to text them at lunch to tell them I'm fine and I haven't been beaten up again.

Once I'm done and we're out of the house I make the mistake of asking Rachel what her morning ritual is. Ten minutes later I'm pulling into the school car park and I _thoroughly _regret asking what it entailed.

"And then after breakfast I make sure that all of my books are in the correct order. It makes it much easier for me to access them when I'm covered in slushie." She pauses and I take my eyes off the road for a moment to glance over at her, but she doesn't look too upset and continues. "They aim for your face and you really shouldn't open your eyes because the corn starch is an irritant." She takes a breath – presumably to continue – and I growl.

"Okay, that's enough! Your morning ritual is extensive and thorough and your organisation and forward thinking impress me. That being said, I really could have done without the ranting. You could have condensed that to like, twenty seconds." The girl has the gall to smirk and she crossed her arms across her chest.

"I know. I just wanted to see how long you'd listen to me talk for." I gape at her. I'm impressed but then I realise she'd been playing me.

"That's mean. No, cruel. No, evil almost." I see an opportunity to get back at her and turn abruptly into an empty park. She squeals, uncrossing her arms to grab at the roof and the side of her chair. She punches me in the arm when I laugh at her. "Hey! I'll text your dads and say that you're the one beating me."

She scowls. "I did _not _appreciate the suddenness of that. Please warn me in the future." With her nose in the air she huffs and hops out of the car. I follow her, laughing. As soon as we enter the school, people stop and stare at us. Most of them, I'm certain, are staring at the purple bruising on my face but it doesn't bother me. It bothers Rachel though so I ruffle her hair gently.

"Oh look, see? People appreciate you getting rid of those foul sweaters for them." She pokes her tongue out at me and pats her hair down. I smile at her. "But you do look nice today Rach. Isn't it nice to wear normal clothes to school for once?" She nods.

"It is but I'm also scared. I don't want them ruined, you know?" I lay my arm around her shoulders and pull her into my side (which sucks because I have only now realised that her shoulder is at the exact same height as one of those bruises…). "But it's nice to see that you've dressed up for once." I look down at myself and smirk at her. She's becoming a sarcastic little shit and I wonder whether she's always been like that or whether it's my influence. I wear the same thing every day, you see? I change between ten long-sleeved shirts, three pairs of identical jeans, and several jackets.

"Whatever. I look hot. You're just jealous." She mhmm's and nods and I roll my eyes. "Bitch." She grins. "And don't worry. If anyone tries to slushie you I'll just kick them in the balls again. And, if it's a girl," I add "I'll just take the slushie for you." She looks at me, curious. "What? Girls don't have balls."

We finally reach Rachel's locker (why did that take so long?) and there is a particularly large group of people whispering and pointing at my face. Rachel is becoming uncomfortable so I ruffle her hair again and she huffs.

"While I appreciate the sisterly sentiment," she hisses, "I really don't like having to fix my hair every three minutes." I smile and cross my arms, leaning against the locker next to hers.

"Just relax kiddo. And you look fine." I tuck down a stray hair that had a mind of its own and she frowns.

"You're only two years older than me and I'm hardly a child." She stamps her foot and I nod, snorting. She's about to say something else when an ape of a boy bumbles his way towards us, holding a large cup. It's the same boy from yesterday and I fix him with a glare. He pales (remarkably so, for a boy with such dark skin) and keeps walking. Rachel giggles quietly and I smirk.

"See? You'll be fine kiddo." She glares fiercely and stomps her foot again and I make a mental note to never call her anything other than kiddo ever again. She opens her mouth to say something when she abruptly closes it again. She is looking at something, or someone, behind me and hurriedly averts her eyes. I turn around and come face to face with Brittany and Santana.

Brittany, of course, lunges for me and wraps her arms around me. I tense but force a smile on my face and pat Brittany gently on the back once. Santana tugs her back and sneer/smiles at me. "We have class, Freak. Let's go." She stalks off, pinkie wrapping around Brittany's, without waiting for my reply and I sigh, turning back to Rachel.

"Rach, I have to go. But I'll hang out with you at lunch?" She smiles tightly and nods.

"Can I ask you a favour?" I nod. "Don't believe anything you hear from them." She tucks a curl of hair behind her ear. "They don't like me very much. Well, no, Santana doesn't like me, and she won't like the fact that I have a friend so she might say some things." I cut her off before she can say anything more. In fact, because she looked so small and upset, I ignored the bruises and the ache in my ribs and my usual 'don't touch' rule, and swept her up in a huge hug. I lifted her off the ground and spun her around quickly. She shrieked a little laugh and I put her down on her feet and ruffled her hair again.

"Don't worry kiddo." I hug her again, so I can talk softly in her ear. "_You_ are my sister, okay? No one at this school matters as much to me as you do." She beams at me and makes a shooing gesture. "Okay, alright, I'm gone. Have fun!"

I make it to class only a moment before the teacher starts and Santana is glaring at me while Brittany bounces happily on her seat. I sit far enough away from Brittany so, hopefully, she won't feel like hugging me every time I help her with a question.

"Are you alright?" I freeze as I take a seat, and look over at Brittany. "Quinn told me to ask you if you were alright because Sanny hit you." I glance at Santana who won't meet my eyes and I nod slowly.

"I'm fine, thank you. Are your hands okay Santana?" She raises her brows, confused that I'm talking to her, but nods anyway. "Alright then." Santana hesitates but murmurs a 'thank you'. I wave a hand dismissively. "Don't mention it." Brittany opens her mouth and I shake my head. "Really, don't mention it. Let's just learn some Maths, okay?"

I can see that Brittany wants to ask something, probably about my 'abs of steel' but I know that she can also see that I'm uncomfortable, and she just nods and focuses on the class.

**And that's Chapter Six. Coming next is Quinn POV chapter and a tiny intsy bitsy bit of Faberry interaction. Please review, reviews make me write faster. Happy reading, readers :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter SEVEN**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, or any of the Glee verse. I do own my OC though. **

**Also - fair warning guys, I'm not hugely happy with this chapter but it gets the job done and I didn't want you waiting too long for it. Please enjoy :)**

**Quinn POV**

This summer sucked. It was the lowest low of my life so far and, after a month or so of thinking, I realised why. I'm not sure why it took me so long. It was actually glaringly obvious. I had an epiphany as I, once again, locked myself in room and ignored my fathers yelling and my mothers drinking and Santana and Brittany's not-so-subtle making out, that the only friends I really had were Santana and Brittany. I also realised that they were perfectly content to spend every moment of every day together with just each other. No one else. Including me.

That isn't to say that I wasn't welcome to spend time with them – we _have_ been friends since third grade. I just hate being the third wheel. I realise that sounds awfully egotistic, like I need to be the centre of attention, but it's actually that I want them to spend time together without having to worry about anything like _does Quinn realise that when I take Brittany's hand it's because I love her? _Or _what would Quinn think of us together? Like a couple? _And_ I really want to kiss Santana right now but Quinn is watching and Santana says we have to play the 'no one else is allowed to see us kiss' game. _I say that because I know exactly how paranoid Santana can be, and how much it hurts Brittany when she sees that Santana is scared of her feelings for Britt. I like it when they're happy, they are my best friends. So, if it means that I have to lock myself in my room every couple of days so that they can spend some time together without having to worry about prying eyes, then that's what I'll do.

I envy them, you know? They're so happy together. It's like they're in their own little world and nothing bad can get to them there. It changes them. It's especially obvious with Santana – it's like a single touch or a little smile from Britt changes her from the bitch we all know and love into this completely foreign and wonderful woman that only Brittany knew existed. She smiles – actually goddamn smiles! – and cooks and watches Disney movies and hugs people (read – hugs me and Brittany). And Brittany, well. She's happy all the time but when San is happy _with_ her she almost glows. So yeah, I'm pretty jealous of them.

I know that most people would find it surprising that I even accept their relationship, let alone that I would be jealous of it, seeing as my family is super Christian, but I've known for years that San and Britt were gay and I have no issue with it. Sure, Britt technically identifies as bi-curious, but I know that they only love each other. That being said, I wasn't always as open minded. I know now that I would have been a lot more judgemental pre-Beth…before the baby…but I know I don't have any room to judge now. I guess the 'traumas' (my father's words) of having Beth opened my eyes a lot to how people that are different are treated. And I hate it. Now I can see that San and Britt are happy with each other – no. They were _made_ for each other and I don't see how it could possibly be wrong to love someone of the same gender if it makes them so happy and vibrant and makes their eyes glow and their smiles wider and makes their life better. I don't see why they would be sent to hell for something that makes them both better people!

Sorry. I'm a bit of a romantic and I hate the idea that someone could be punished for loving someone. Especially when I look at a 'real relationship' (again, my fathers words) like my own mother and father and see how awful they are to each other and how unhappy they are. I pointed this out to my father in defence of San and Britt in the second week of holidays (which the girls aren't aware of) and I very clearly recall my Berry-esque storm out that followed when he went purple and called them 'a pair of sinners'.

They aren't sinners. That much is obvious. Brittany is the most amazing and innocent and lovely person in the world and Santana, well, she's a bitch but she's also my best friend and is crazy smart and amazing and deep deep _deep_ under the bitch persona is the third most lovely person I've ever met (after Brittany and Rachel Berry. Yeah, I've acknowledged that Berry is a good person. I'll tell you about that later.) My girls looked after me all summer long, through all my heartache over Beth –_the baby_ – and my family deciding that they wanted to 'become a better family' after my father returned from his escapades with the tattooed harlot and my mother welcomed him back with open arms. I did not. I'm not sure whether it was primarily to spite my father that I spent most of the summer living with two mostly closeted lesbians and skipping church, but I know that spite had a lot to do with it. Add that to the premarital sex with Puck and I guess that makes me the biggest sinner in town.

I saw no point in keeping up the charade of 'the Perfect Fabray's' and spent the summer locked in Santana's guest room. The room with my name on it at the Fabray's I now see as a temporary storage room for my things and I plan on spending as little time as possible there. San put up a sign on her guest room that says 'Quinn's Room – Fuck Off', so I consider that my room now. A few weeks after I escaped from that hellhole, and after I dropped the desire to be perfect and need for the perfect reputation, I realised exactly how empty my life is. There was more crying and throwing of things and depression that went hand in hand with this realisation than I would like to admit but I like to think that I came out of it a better person. More importantly, what came from it was a Plan.

I have made a change in my life that basically entails me no longer being a bitch (Santana overheard my plan and scoffed, rolled her eyes, but happily agreed to slap me silly when I deserved it after being a bitch to someone – I think of her as my safety net, someone to stop me from being too bitchy). When I came up with the plan, I had no doubt that it would affect my life at school. I knew that, despite my position as Head Cheerleader – which Sue had returned to me halfway through the holidays when she appeared suddenly in Santana's bedroom (super creepy) – and the fact that San, Britt and I are the hottest girls at school, my niceness would be seen as a weakness. I also knew that there was one person that was integral to my Plan (other than me) and that I had to apologise to her as soon as possible. Turns out, I had no idea how. My years as a Fabray – and therefore perfect and not needing to apologise – and then as HBIC never prepared me for this eventuality.

I was worrying about this – the Plan, and the person I needed to apologise to - in the first period of school when I heard Brittany's name. My head snapped up, and I saw Santana's do the same. I may not intend to be a bitch but if someone hurt our Brittany I would forcibly throw them from the room. Still, I restrained myself as the new girl – Jo, was it? – sat herself between Britt and me and contented myself from glaring threatening at her back. The moment she hurt Britt I would unleash the full power of HBIC (I know, that sounded so geeky. Another pro to the list of benefits of no longer being a perfect Fabray – I can be as geeky as I want to be). The girl (woman, actually. She's older than us, I think) tells us that she's here to tutor Brittany and I can't help but be relieved. I love Britt, I really do (though maybe no so much as Santana does) but I don't think that even I can keep my place as Head Cheerio, maintain my perfect 4.0 GPA _and_ make sure that Brittany passes all of her classes. We only managed to do that last year with the help of Sue's intimidation tactics and some bullshitting (oh, did I mention that? I swear now, thanks to Santana's influence). Maybe it's the relief that Brittany will be taken care of that I don't have to kill the woman. Maybe it's the fact that I know if I was honest with myself, I don't want to kill her, or maim her, or emotionally damage her at all because I recognise her. Or something about her, which both soothes me and terrifies me because I _know_ what I recognise.

Allow me to explain: when I warn Jo not to hurt Brittany (okay, threaten her) she doesn't flinch at all. Her face is perfectly smooth. Flawless. There is no hint of weakness, and her emotions are all under control and I don't know how to describe it other than _tight_. It's like looking at the mask I adopted for myself in freshman year when I realised that if I wanted to be at the top I had to stand on people to do it. Literally. I am the top of the pyramid. So yeah, I suppose the reason I don't bitch at her or threaten her any more than Santana already has is because I feel like I know her. I already know that she is guarded and wary and I'm a little frightened because I know exactly why I used my own mask and it wasn't just because of school.

After class, I absently promise Santana that I will protect Britt from the new girl, but I also make a note to myself to keep an eye on Jo. She's interesting and frightening and very different. A thought is prickling on the edge of my mind as I turn the corner to my class and suddenly I am brought back to the present. My books are scattered on the floor and there is a familiar figure picking herself up from where she fell.

Rachel Barbra Berry. She starts to collect her book and stutters apologies in my direction. I watch her for a long moment, trying to recall all of the practice Santana made me do with apologies, but can't remember a single thing. I'm _nervous_. She coughs delicately and I look at her. She's holding my books out towards me and I hesitantly take them from her with a little nod of thanks. My hand grazes hers when I take them and she yanks her hands back hurriedly as if she'd been scalded. My heart gives a funny lurch and I tell myself that it is sadness because she's so obviously frightened of me.

"I apologise profusely for running into you Quinn. I was distracted by my thoughts. I promise that I will pay more attention to my surroundings in the future. I do hope that I didn't injure you or cause you any kind of discomfort. If you have been injured I would be happy to escort you to the nurse's office, or if there's anything else I can assist you with I would be happy to do so."

I tilt my head to the side and let myself smile a little. Like I said before, Rachel Berry is the second nicest person I've ever met in my life – after Brittany. And that is only because Brittany doesn't have a mean bone in her body. Rachel sees my smile and it sends her into another rant about brain damage from her running into me and my smile broadens. Ever since I rid myself of my beliefs that popularity and prestige are everything, I find that Berry's ramblings are humorous, though I will admit they do not endear her to the entire school population. The poor girl really is a loser…she is short and loud and annoying and she's _still_ talking and won't look at me and she's wearing absolutely awful clothes.

I sigh. I can't recall any of the apologies I had prepared for Rachel and if there is one thing that I retain from being a Fabray it is that I _never_ do anything less than perfectly, including apologies. Instead of reassuring her that I'm fine, I turn and walk quickly away to my next class. I'll just pretend that I never saw her and then write down my apology and say it to her tomorrow… I hear her faltering in her speech behind me and I smile. She really is funny. I make a note to tell Santana to take her off the slushie hit list and to tone down the insults. I would never ask San to stop entirely – insulting people is one of her favourite past times – but Rachel doesn't deserve the constant put-downs. Now that I think of it, San is probably going to kill me. Rachel is her favourite target. Oh well, sucks to be San.

I somehow make it through the rest of the day and find myself in Glee. I sit myself up the back, next to Santana and Brittany, and hide behind a book. I'm still hiding from Rachel because I haven't finished writing my apology and, to my delight, she doesn't look my way. For some reason, no one ever does when I'm reading. I've perfected the 'I'm actually reading, not eavesdropping or spying on you' look. Well, almost perfect. Santana can see through it. She kicks me in the ankle every so often and I glare at her. Maybe she just likes to kick me…Still, I watch Rachel and her new friend from the corner of my eye – I feel a wave of relief that Rachel has a friend. I had thought for sure that my HBIC reign meant that Rachel would never have a friend – and an unfamiliar sensation floods my system. I frown and take a few moments to analyse my feelings.

There is curiosity, of course. I don't know who this new girl is but she's turned our Glee club against one another. Santana is throwing her usual (hilarious) barbed comments; Kurt is dissing Rachel (again, what is that feeling?); and Mercedes is backing up everything her number one diva says – that's Kurt, by the way. Not Rachel. No one ever backs up Rachel. Until today. Jo steps up and touches Rachel gently on the elbow and, from behind my book, my eyes zero in on the touch. It's casual and brief, but it lingers for a moment, and it seems so natural and practiced. What does it show? Friendship? Something more?

I feel uncomfortable because I'm normally so good at reading people but I can't read the new girl and I can't see why Rachel is simultaneously upset and happy…I'm so confused that I don't talk for the entirety of Glee. It's only when I'm driving home – to the Fabray house today rather than Santana's – that I realise what the feeling is. I almost crash my car (given to me by my father for 'not being pregnant any more') when the thought occurs to me. I go over it again and again and again and again but each time the answer is the same. I'm _jealous_. But of who? And why? I'm not certain. I mean, I _know_ that it's not about Finn, even though she's draping herself all over him, because he, well. I honestly have no idea what I ever saw in him. So now, instead of being able to get angry at her about Finn, I don't want to be angry at her at all and now I'm furious because I'm _confused _and it's only the first day of school and I know this is all Rachel's fault! I just wanted to be nice and quiet and not interested in anything over than getting fantastic grades and maybe get a few other friends but now I'm just confused and jealous and angry and crappity fucking crap! I just wanted to start anew but she's so small and scared of me and argh!

I slam my palm against the steering wheel and yell a loud 'shit fucking Christ!' I ignore the horrified look I receive from my elderly neighbour when the horn blares and she hears me, perfectly content to continue my tantrum. Eventually I stomp my way inside the house and actively ignore my mother. I grab some sandwiches from the fridge and flee upstairs when I realise that my father is already home. I consider throwing some things because I'm still not calm and I keep thinking about Rachel Berry and Jo, the tutor, and the gleeful look Santana got when she saw them together and I swear again, loudly. Everything is so confusing when I'm not in control.

I sigh and rip my bag open, hunkering down to do some homework. Today sucked but I can't fall behind in my work. I don't care for my family's reputation but I do care for my own. I am the best, and I intend to stay there.

Santana calls me while I'm doing homework and she's strangely hesitant. "Q, I think I did something really stupid." I immediately close my Mac – Santana trumps homework any day of the week – and focus on her voice. Apparently my silence is enough to get her to continue because she does. "I beat up the new girl." I make a soft choking noise and she wails. "I know! I don't even know why I did it but she said shit about me and Britt and I just, fuck. I don't know. I couldn't control myself." I hum.

"How bad was it?" She sniffs.

"I don't know. She was pretty cool about it afterwards, which is totally weird now that I think about it. I was just relieved at the time so I didn't really notice…and she said to Britt that she's had worse, but my hands are pretty sore so I think it was probably pretty bad." We're silent for a little while and she sniffs again. "Oh. Britt wants to talk to you." I hear the noises of the phone being passed over and grin at Brittany's enthusiastic greeting.

"Hi Quinn!" I say 'hi' back and then I can hear her murmuring something to Santana and walking away. She turns on her serious voice. "Quinn…it was pretty bad. I could barely hold her back." I stifle a gasp because _that_ is scary. Brittany can always calm Santana down! I wonder briefly what Jo had said that had freaked Santana out so much. And how the fuck is that girl still alive?

"And her knuckles are bruised. Jo said she had abs of steel and she probably does because they're pretty bad." I don't say what we're both thinking. _Or Santana just really did a job on her._

"I'm sure she does Britt. Here's what you need to do. Right now you need to be with Santana and make sure she's okay. That includes icing her hand, okay?" Brittany gives an affirmative hum. "Then tomorrow I want you to ask Jo if she's alright because you'll be with her all day, right?" She hums again, so I assume that's a yes. "Alright then. Love you."

"Love you too Quinn." I smile and click my phone shut. I stare at it for a moment, considering this new development. The girls were perfect for each other. Santana was so protective of Brittany, everyone knew that. But only I really knew that Brittany was just as protective of Santana, just in a different way. She protected Santana's heart, and her fists. I rubbed my eyes, suddenly exhausted, and looked over at my clock. Nine-thirty. I sighed. Back to my homework. I could worry about Santana tomorrow.

It was ten-thirty when I finally went to bed and I set my alarm for five a.m. and grinned evilly. As Head Cheerio, and with Coach Sue out of state for a few months on Cheerio business, I was setting practice schedules. And, as most people knew, I was evil. I liked to wake up early and I like to go running, so I run to all of my Cheerio's homes and we go for a morning run – five-thirty to six-thirty. Every day. This was important because Sue liked to check up on us – usually she sent spies but she also liked to do internet meetings because she didn't trust others to hold us to the same level of perfection. She had bribed the tech kids to secretly record all of our trainings, and sometimes did live feed training sessions. Whatever happened this year, I was going to be prepared for it. The baby Cheerio's didn't dare mess with me (as Santana had spread the rumour that during my pregnancy I had gotten used to my weird cravings for the blood of freshmans and hadn't quite grown out of it yet).

After the morning run only Brittany, Santana and I are still standing. And I don't mean that in the figurative sense of 'we're the best', I mean that _literally_ the girls had fallen over and couldn't stand. I roll my eyes. No surprises there – they didn't realise that they had to train over the summer as well. I counted the Cheerios and frowned. There were two missing.

"Jenkins!" The captain of the junior varsity muffled a groan and stood slowly, hobbling over to me. She plastered a smile on her face and I nodded approvingly. That was why I had picked her. She didn't like to show weakness. "There are two of your Cheerios missing. Find them, tell them that they are no longer Cheerios, and make sure that their uniforms are on Sue's desk before school starts." She nods, and started turning around, but I bark another order after her. "And you will do an extra lap of the football field this afternoon after practice. You are Captain and, as such, you are supposed to make sure that your team is the best it can be with _all_ of it's members. Understood?" Her face falls slightly but the punishment is more than fair so she just nods. "Then go."

When we (Santana, Brittany and I) get to school, I finally realise the extent of the power I have. Yesterday was all about refocusing the school order, of schedules and books and friends, but today everything is as it always was – with me at the top. And, for the first time in years, knowing that I have this power doesn't make me feel any better. I blame the Glee Club. Maybe Sue did have it right. Maybe Glee does need to be destroyed for making me weak. But then I remember how great I feel when I'm singing and dancing and sigh. No, I love Glee.

When I'm frowning at that thought, a loser scurries out of my line of sight. I frown deeper. It seems that everyone is still scared of me even though I sent out that group text and Facebook message that this was a new year – all grudges are forgiven and I am more mellow and approachable. Perhaps they didn't get it…Still, I'm glad that I'm making the change.

And then I happen to turn to the left and see the new tutor hugging Rachel. Santana scoffs and grins at me. "We have class with Stubbles new _bestie_." She sneers. "Want us to inform her how uncool Manhands is?" She hooks her pinkie around Britt's but I shake my head slowly.

"No, San. I meant what I said. This year is a new me. Berry is entitled to have friends." Then Jo picks Rachel up and spins her around. Rachel laughs happily and I frown. "Go get your tutor and take her to class." San frowns as well and I raise a brow at her. "Be nice San. Britt needs her. And remember – Rachel is off limits!" San nods grudgingly and tugs Brittany over to where Rachel and Jo are chatting.

I watch as Jo lets go of Rachel and they say goodbye. Berry frowns after her friend and San and Britt. Her eyes flicker back, away from the girls, and meet mine. I don't change my expression but she blushes and immediately drops her gaze. I walk slowly over to her and let my lips curl up into a hesitant smile.

"Hey Berry." Her shoulders tense. "You look nice." In my head I'm screaming at myself because, really, how lame can I get? Still, she does look nice. Actually, she looks really good. She's wearing jeans and a shirt and there is no awful sweater in sight and she smiles up at me.

"Thank you Quinn! It's lovely to see you this morning. I am glad that I didn't injure you yesterday and that you are well." I smile. She's cute when she's nervous. "I regret to inform you that I must now depart for class as it begins in approximately three minutes and it will take me that time to make my way there. Have a pleasant day." She was moving away now and I blinked, but then laid a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and I frowned, looking away. That hurt. I know I'd been awful to her but I had never physically hurt her. She seemed to see that she'd hurt me because she was apologising. "I'm sorry Quinn. Was there something more I can help you with?"

I open my mouth to speak but I have no idea what I wanted to say. She is waiting patiently though and I say something. Her face goes completely blank and she asks me to repeat myself. So I do.

"Would you like to walk to class with me? We share the same class and if I walk with you people won't walk into you and you'll get there faster." I snap my mouth shut and breathe heavily out of my nose. _Stop blathering Quinn!_

"There's no need to do so Quinn, but thank you for your offer." And then she was gone and I was staring at the place where she had been. That wasn't how I had expected her to react. Actually, that was the first time I had ever really gone into a conversation without knowing exactly what I was going to say so I think it went pretty well, considering.

The now familiar combination of confusion and slight anger directed towards Rachel rose up and I pushed it back down heavily. It wasn't her fault that I wasn't used to making friends. I shook my head and tightened my ponytail as I walked down the hall to class. And Jo… I reminded myself to keep an eye on her. Everything was doubly confusing when I saw them together. My jealousy ran rampant – obviously it was because I wanted to be Rachel's friend and yet there she was with a best friend already – which I also pushed deep down out of sight. I nodded with satisfaction when I realised that, with Santana and Brittany befriending Rachel's best friend, there would be more opportunities for me to talk to Rachel and, hopefully, one of these days I will be able to apologise properly. I sucked in a deep breath and let myself smile a little – it's a new day, Lima! Prepare yourself for the new and improved Quinn Fabray. I snuck in late, giving the teacher a little smile, and sat in my usual seat up the back. I let myself zone out and spent most of the lesson scribbling bits of apologies but none of them sounded right. In the end, I gave up and frowned in Rachel's direction. I know that I want to apologise to her, and I know that if I don't become a better person I'll end up with few friends, but I'm not sure why it has to be Rachel that has to forgive me. Why can't it be someone like Mercedes, or Finn? Mercedes is cool and Finn is stupid. I ignored the little voice that told me that this was all part of becoming a better person – apologising to someone that knows they've been wronged and knows they deserve an apology – and I'm content to wallow in self pity. She's going to make me _suffer_, I can tell.

**That was Chapter Seven. Sneak peek at Quinn's thoughts, experiences and hopes and dreams blah blah blah which shall accumulate and become overwhelming love for Rachel Berry! Kidding, Kidding. But seriously, those two are totally getting together. Anywho, as usual, please review with thoughts, comments, ideas, etc. Let me know what you thought. Have a lovely day, keep smiling, and keep reading, readers! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Eight**

**May I just say: I do not own Glee or any of the characters. My OC characters are mine. Also, I apologise for the delay in updates but I was procrastinating. You know how it is…**

**Please enjoy.**

It's lunchtime at McKinley and I find myself trying to glare in every single direction. Every damn person seems to be holding a slushie – what is it with this school and iced beverages? They are neither nutritious nor particularly appetizing! Unfortunately, I am mortal and, therefore, unable to glare in every direction at the same time, which is why the self-proclaimed 'bad-ass' from Glee has managed to escape my notice and is now talking to Rachel.

"So. Anyone want to tell me why my favourite Jewish Princess is looking damn fine today?" Rachel giggles from next to me and I make a mental note to inform her that, unlike her dopey boyfriend, most boys interpret giggles post-pick up line as an invitation to start taking clothes off – either their own or the girls. The boy with the punk hair-do sidles up and leans causally against Rachel's locker and I glare at him.

It's a fairly excellent glare too, if I do say so myself. I mean, glares are supposed to intimidate people, right? I'm intimidating myself at the moment from the sheer awesome force of my glare, and yet this boy seems to be immune. I wonder: is he remarkably brave, or just stupid?

"Jew babe, who is super mega awesome foxy hot friend?" His eyes graze their way down my _entire_ body and I growl.

"Eyes up here, Mohawk." I point to my own eyes but he just grins and flexes his biceps casually because apparently that is how boys converse these days. Hey, how are you? Flex. I'm good. Flex. It's _disgusting_. That's why I like girls. They do things like this: Oh hey, how are you? Insert bitchy subtext here. I'm good. Bitchy subtext. It's so much better. Much more subtle, understated and evil. We girls are crafty.

"Noah, this is Jo. Jo, this is Noah." I raise my brows and they just keep going up my forehead because in all the conversations I've had with Rachel a certain 'Noah Puckerman' has been mentioned many times and he's usually described as the 'sweet Jewish boy from down the road'. He whines and pouts at Rachel.

"Jew Babe, stop ruining my rep. My name is _Puck_." He winks salaciously at me. "Rhymes with a certain fun four-letter word."

"It's also the name of a certain gallivanting fairy who wears tights but hey, to each their own." Instead of becoming paranoid and homophobic like most teens I know, Puck (Noah?) just barks a laugh and runs a hand over his mohawk.

"Rach said the same thing. Said it was a stupid name because everyone would tease me but I knew better – no one else in this school is as smart as my Jew Babe." He laughs at Rachel's self-important expression before turning back to me. He scrutinizes me for a moment. "So you're Rachel's friend, huh?" His eyes flicker to Rachel and back. "That's cool." His face is mostly inscrutable but I think I'm detecting a little bit of jealousy and/or worry.

Rachel distracts him by spinning a full 360 degrees. "Do you like my clothes, Noah?" She beams up at her very bulked up, mohawked, sweet Jewish friend and I prepare myself for a lewd comment but I am pleasantly surprised when he just gestures for her to spin again and again until she teeters, slightly dizzy, and he stops her with a laugh. They are cute friends in a 'he looks like a sex shark but he is kind to my little sister and seems to temper his niceness with a creepy amount of lust and she is amazingly oblivious to the lust or just accepts him for who he is' kind of way.

"You look damn fine Jew Babe. It's nice to see you wearing your normal clothes to school." She blushes and looks down at her shoes (Converse, because why on earth would she wear penny loafers to school ever again?) "I'm guessing your hot new friend told you she'll clean you off if you get slushied." He waggles his eyebrows for extra measure and I roll my eyes. Oh goodie. Here is another person who thinks that my sister and I are doing the dirty. He must have confused Rachel's 'I think I'm going to be sick at the thought' look for apprehension about being slushied and flexes his biceps again. "No worries Rach. I won't let anyone slushy my Jewish Princess."

And, of course, Rachel goes and ignores all of my (very loud) mental warnings and flings herself at Puckerman, hugging him tightly. She bounces away down the hall, beaming and humming to herself. Puckerman pushes himself away from the locker and leers at me again.

"So, you and Rach are _really_ good friends, huh?" His eyes glaze over a little but I grimace again. Ew ew ew. Gross. I spin on my heel and start to follow Rachel but he grabs my shoulder and spins me back around. I tense and bring my hands up a little. I can't concentrate on what he is saying and instead just stare at the hand on my shoulder. Finally, probably realising that I'm not listening, he sighs and removes his hand. I frown at him.

"_Do not_ touch me Puckerman." He holds his hands up and away from me in the universal 'I surrender' gesture.

"Relax babe. Sorry!" I glared at him. "Jo, right?" I nod once. "Look, you are Rachel's friend or whatever and Rachel is a really awesome Jew Babe." He runs a hand over his mohawk. "We are have a bros night tonight, wanna come?" I can't help but grin because I know that this 'bros night' is the same as Rachel's 'bi-weekly gathering with her sweet Jewish friend in which they partake in unhealthy food and watch movies'. Her words, obviously.

"You want me at your bros night?" He shrugs, nodding.

"Sure, why not? You seem pretty cool and you stood up for Rach in Glee so I know that she'd be fine with you coming. It _would_ be nice to spend some time out of the house. I usually just lock myself in my room and plan my lessons for the unusually stupid football players. A movie night would be nice.

"Yeah, okay. Do you need me to bring anything?" His hopeful expression makes me frown immediately. "If you say booze, weed, or any form of illicit substance I will punch you." He pouts and shakes his head.

"Fine. No, you don't need to bring anything other than like, twenty bucks for pizza. It's tradition – the newest bro has to buy the pizza. Oh, and your fine ass, of course."

I shrug and agree and it's only when I'm walking away and he's racing off to sexually harass some other student that I realise that I've been had. I am the _only_ newest bro ever – it's just Puckerman and Rachel and now me. "Crap. I hate kids." A freshman overhears me muttering that and his eyes widen so I bare my teeth at him and he scurries off. Scaring freshmen. It never gets old.

"Welcome to the Puckasauras home. Please wipe your feet and leave your lameness at the door!" Puck grins at his own greeting (which is totally lame and stupid, by the way) and reaches forward to pull Rachel and me into the house. The pair race upstairs and I lose sight of them almost immediately.

"Leaving you out of their games are they dear? Don't be offended. Rachel and Noah have been best friends since they were eight. I'm sure they don't mean to exclude you." The soft voice comes from my left and I turn to see a worn, but still beautiful, older woman standing in a doorway to what I assume is the kitchen. Her words are kind but I still feel an aching in my chest that I missed so much of her life. Damn, but I am messed up. I am distracted by the woman who is wiping her hands on her apron. She speaks aagain. "I've never seen you around before." She holds a hand out, which I take hesitantly and shake.

"Jo Corcoran, ma'am. I'm Rachel's friend." Her eyes widen the tiniest fraction and she tilts her head to the side. She traces my face very slowly with her eyes and nods slowly.

"How lovely." She snaps out of whatever trance she is in when I frown at her and smiles again. "Noah is always telling me how awful the kids at school are to our little star. It's nice that she's getting more friends." At that moment, Rachel sticks her head out over the stairway railing and beams at Mrs Puckerman.

"Hello Mrs P! Jo, what are you doing? Come upstairs." And then she races off again. I roll my eyes but shake Mrs Puckerman's hand again.

"A pleasure to meet you Mrs Puckerman." She waves me away and I climb the stairs. I'm glad that Rachel has had that woman in her life, I muse. It must be nice; to have two fathers and a sort-of stand in mother.

I enter the corridor upstairs and it's fairly easy to tell which one is Puck's. It smells faintly of feet and has posters of scantily clad girls on the walls and I am loathe to even stand outside it, let alone _inside _it, for longer than a minute. Rachel ducks out of the room and smiles up at me.

" I really don't want you in that room." She frowns but then smiles when she sees that I'm glaring at the posters.

"Noah doesn't objectify me in that way. We've been best friends since I was seven years old and ten months. He's just turned eight and moved here and we bonded over summer camp – which he likes to call 'Jew camp' even though we were really the only Jewish children there but I suppose since we held worship separately on Sunday it must have made an impression on him." I smile down at her.

"Are you trying to tell me that he respects you?" I'm interrupted by a 'Jew Babe! Get your hot ass back in here with your friends hot ass following!' and Rachel grins ruefully.

"He's my best friend, Jo." She says quietly. "I think of him as my brother and he thinks of me as…maybe a very distantly related cousin so that he can still overtly sexualise me in order to give me compliments but realises that we are practically family and therefore would never try anything." I laugh at her thought process and the way that she uses her hands to emphasise every point and she takes my hand, gently squeezing it, and beams up at me. "Relax, Jo. You are still my real sister and second best friend and he is my pretend brother and best friend." She frowns apologetically. "I would have you as equal best friends and I trust both of you entirely and I base friendships on trust and affection, however, Noah has known me intimately for many years." We both wince at her use of the word intimate and, when she goes to explain, I shake my head.

"I know what you meant. But let me just say _ew_, kiddo." We shudder in synch and Rachel gags but opens the door behind her, only to see that Puck is just standing there.

"Eavesdropping there, Puckerman?" He doesn't answer me but his eyes scour my face as if searching for something. He must have found whatever he was looking for because his eyes widen and his mouth falls open.

"Noah?" Puckerman clears his throat.

"What…what did you mean by 'you're still my real sister'?" he croaks. Rachel blanches and pushes Noah backwards further into his room. She makes him sit on his bed and stands in front of him, arms crossed.

"Noah Puckerman, you will listen to what I have to say – _all of it_ – without interrupting and you will respect me and Jo and our wishes. Understood?" He nods once. "Very well. Noah. The introduction I gave before was slightly…lacking in detail. I would like to introduce my half sister Josephine Corcoran. She is two years older than myself and is the child of my mother, Shelby Corcoran." His face contorts slightly. It's not exactly shock, and I realise that he must have really known since he obviously saw something of Rachel in my face (we do look kind of similar), but it has traces of anger, confusion, and something else but I'm not certain. I ready myself in case he gets violent.

When he speaks, his voice is tight as if he is holding himself back. "Are you finished, Rach?" She nods and he instantly jumps up and strides to stand in front of me. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" he hisses. I eye his figure – tense, arms shaking, frowning deeply. Crap. Looks like I'm going to get beaten up for the second time in as many days.

"What do you mean Puckerman? I think I'm Rachel's half sister, Jo Corcoran." He sneers.

"I don't know what you are trying to do but if you fuck with my friend I will end you." Rachel pushes her way in between us and whacks him on the chest. Stupid girl.

"Noah! Language!" He mutters a 'sorry' and glares at me from over Rachel's head. She's standing between us, hands on hips, and I would almost laugh at the sight if I weren't so nervous. She, my _very small_ little sister is standing in front of a potentially violent man with no apparent regard for her own safety. "Now, Noah. I will ignore that outburst if you would simply say what you are trying to say without any other profanities." He sucks in a deep breath and, when he speaks, his voice is low and dangerous.

"What I'm trying to imply, Rach, is that whoever this bitch is has wormed her way into your family and is trying to fuck with you and I don't like it." His eyes and voice soften when he looks at Rachel. "Everyone knows that you want to know who your mum is Rach." He glares at me again. "You didn't know you had a sister and suddenly this woman turns up and you're calling her your sister and-"

He is shaking with the effort it takes to keep calm and I don't dare move because I don't want him to endanger Rachel. But _stupid _Rachel takes another step closer and places a hand on his chest, over his heart, and cups his cheek with the other hand. She stands on her tiptoes and makes him look at her.

"Noah. I promise you that she really is my sister. My fathers remember her. They met her when she was two and then again when she was almost three years old. They have received emails from my mother every year since my birth including pictures. We didn't go into this blindly Noah, and I _trust_ Jo. Noah. Noah! Look at me." He had looked away to glare at me, but I kept my face perfectly blank. _Please don't hate me. Rachel would be upset if you hated me._

"_Noah_. Listen to me. She is my sister and _yes_ I want to know whom my mother is but I am perfectly content to wait until my eighteenth birthday. Jo isn't playing with me. She's never once mentioned my mother or made any motion to let me think that she intends to. I trust her Noah."

Puckerman sucks in a deep breath but the glare doesn't move from his face so I take a step forward and reach out to touch Rachel's shoulder. The second I do touch her, though, Puckerman growls and I flinch. _Get her out of here_, I think. _Just get her out. You can deal with Puckerman when she's gone_._ When she's safe_.

"Rachel, would you leave me with Puckerman for a minute?" Rachel frowns but takes a hesitant step away from Puckerman. When he doesn't instantly rip me to shreds, Rachel apparently decides that it's safe for her to leave and gives me a small nod. She walks backwards out of the room and closes the door behind her but I'm very aware that she will be right outside that door and listening very intently so I move until I am a pace away from Rachel's best friend – the boy who looks like he is about a hairs breadth away from killing me.

"What do you want with her?"

"I want to be her sister." He scoffs and I close my eyes for a brief moment and contain my growl. "I don't know how I can prove it to you Puckerman." He shifts on his feet but his eyes don't move from me. I can honestly tell you that I would prefer his lecherous gaze to _this_ any day. "What do you want me to say? How can I prove that I'm being honest?"

"I want to know why _now_? Why in her senior year of school, why now before she goes to college, before her auditions, and more importantly, why not years ago?"

"Because…" I growl and spin away. I have to keep moving. I clench my hands and let them beat away on my thigh because I can't fully contain this feeling, a feeling I can't describe as anything other than fizzing. I am fizzing, and not in a good emotionally high kind of way. No, this is the kind of fizzing that makes me do stupid things like punch people in the face and jump out of buildings (a story for another time, perhaps) and I know that I have to work it out of my system somehow. More importantly, I know that I have to answer Puckerman because every second that goes by makes him less likely to believe me and more likely to do his utmost to make sure that I never have the opportunity to take to Rachel again. I take a step back, closer to him, and lower my voice.

"Because my mother wouldn't let me. She has a contract with the Berry dads that she wasn't allowed to contact Rachel until Rachel contacted her. It took her years to think of sending me and even then she didn't want to send me because we are both entirely aware that Rachel is _so_ much better than I could ever hope to be and Shelby was scared that if I was the first person to meet Rachel I would frighten her and Rach would never want to meet my mother. But I was sent here anyway and I wasn't particularly thrilled to meet the sister I already knew was better than me in every single way but then I met her and I really liked her and I knew that being better in every way somehow didn't make me hate her but it made me want to protect her and look after her forever because she is so naïve and innocent and loving and then I saw how she was treated at school and she's practically friendless and something clicked, you know? She's my little sister and I am going to be there for her whether you like it or not Puckerman." I hiss the last sentence at him and then take a deep breath because I'm not entirely sure whether I breathed at all in that. We are so close that out noses are practically touching and I, at some point during that, moved and I have one hand wrapped around the collar of his shirt and the other hand is poking him harshly in the chest and he is gripping my shoulders and glaring right back at me.

We stare at each other for a few silent moments and, little by little, Puckerman relaxes. "You really like her?" I just nod. I can't manage anything else because saying all of that took everything out of me – all the fizzing energy and more – and I am exhausted. "And you aren't trying to fuck with her head?" I hear a muted 'language Noah!' from behind the door and we share a chuckle. Typical Rachel.

"I'm not trying to fuck with her head, Puckerman." He nods slowly, searching my eyes and, suddenly, releases me and takes a step back.

"Well then." He runs a hand over his mohawk (I am starting to think this is a tic of his. I like that I'm not the only one with a nervous tic…) and lets out a shaky breath. "That was super intense and I'm kind of aroused right now." I groan and cover my face. He grins and just like that it's as if he never mistrusted me. "Rach! You can come back in now!" In the moment before Rachel enters, we share a look and I know that if I ever hurt my sister he will be the first person to make sure I never have the opportunity to do it ever again.

The door slams open and Rachel blushes as it bands against the wall. "I wasn't listening!" Rachel insists, still blushing, and I roll my eyes at the same time that Puckerman chuckles. "Also, Noah, your mother says that she wants you to clean your room and that she is ordering pizza for dinner now." She sits primly on the bed and looks between us, rolling her eyes. "Have you two fought it out and decided that I am perfectly safe with _both _of you and neither of you have any need to hurt the other?"

Noah looks sheepish and I just look down at the ground. "I wasn't going to hurt him," I say at the same time I hear him mutter 'I wasn't going to hurt her." He grins at me and I let myself smile a tiny bit. Not too much though, because I don't want him to think that our 'intense moment' means I want him to ravish me or something. And yes, I'm absolutely certain that if he had even the barest hint that he thought it was possible he would pursue it. Damn teenagers…

"Well, now that we've established the fact that you two weren't going to hurt each other and we are all friends now," 'and siblings' Noah adds quietly. Rachel frowns at him, not for his interjection so much as the fact that he interjected at all I suspect, and continues. "Yes, well, I propose that we watch Funny Girl!" She claps her hands and beams up at us. I turn to Puckerman and widen my eyes, desperate. I've already watched it four times in the last two weeks. Yes, Barbara is magnificent, but I don't want to wake up with the soundtrack imbedded in my psyche and playing over and over again in my mind. It's already playing in her bedroom every morning.

Puckerman sidles over next to me. "If you hold her down, I'll put in Easy A and we'll all be happy." I am surprised by his choice in movie. Then again, not so much when he elaborates. "Emma Stone is totally hot – I like looking at her and so will you. Rachel just appreciates the witty banter." I nod. Rachel looks nervously between us and then screams when I jump on her and grab Funny Girl from her hand. Puckerman takes it from me and hides it. A few moments later the movie starts and Rachel is sitting (forcibly held down actually) between us, arms crossed and pouting. She sighs.

"If I had thought for even a moment that you two would fight and then join forces against me, I really don't think I would have agreed to this bros night. Noah laughs and I smile tightly. _Does she hate me for ruining tonight? I should never have come. I don't want her to be upset…maybe we should just watch Barbara for the billionth time this month._ Opposite me, Noah's eyes are wide and he is mouthing something to me.

'Don't give in!' He is mouthing and I realise that Rachel is playing me. Damn. She is learning how to manipulate me fast. When she sees my face change she slumps back against the headboard, defeated. Needless to say, halfway through the movie she is far more engrossed in it than either Noah or me.

My phone buzzes from beside me and I tense before unlocking the screen. Not many people text me.

**From Unknown Number: How is my daughter?** I smooth my expression, which is unnecessary because Rachel is utterly focused on Emma Stone's brilliantly funny performance. I let my eyes close and puff out my cheeks in frustration. I also move my arm away from Rachel because, as much as I love her, it's hard sometimes knowing that when my mother texts me about her daughter, she isn't talking about me.

A think finger pokes at my shoulder. "What's up?" Puckerman murmurs and I shrug.

"Just some bitch from…from New York." I was going to say 'from back home' but I know that doesn't really apply. I never had a home there. He nods and I graze my thumb over the screen and re-read the message. I let my fingers hover over the 'reply' button.

**To Unknown Number: Rachel is healthy and happy. She has confessed to wanting to know you but also thinks she isn't ready to meet or contact you.**

I feel low and dirty for sending this to Shelby, with both Rach and Noah sitting next to me, but I also know that if I don't reply with something positive (positive for her plan, not as in morally correct or anything) Shelby would make my life a living hell. And Rachel's. I have no doubt that she would fly here from New York and stalk the hell out of my little sister. My hand clenches on the phone as it buzzes again and my hand flutters nervously. _Please let her have bought it. Let me have more time._

**From Unknown Number: Keep telling her about me. I want my daughter to love me.**

I resist the obvious reply of 'As if Bitchy McWorstMotherAlive' and send back a generic 'okay' instead. I know how neurotic she gets with a lack of information and, god forgive me, but I glean an immense amount of pleasure from knowing that she is squirming somewhere, anxious and all alone, thinking about her evil plan and whether it is possibly failing – which it is. But she doesn't know that yet.

"You okay?" Puckerman murmurs and I flick a glance at Rachel but she is slumped, fast asleep, on his shoulder. One of his hands is patting her head gently and I see that the credits are rolling, muted. I wonder how long I've been staring at my phone for. Instead of answering him, I jerk a semblance of a nod and help him move Rachel as carefully as possible into a more comfortable position and we lay ourselves on the floor with blankets and pillows.

"I'm fine," I finally reply. "She's just…she just wants something and I don't want," I pause. How to say this without hiding it extensively and making it sound strangely sexual, and yet not giving to much away? "She wants something that I don't want to give." He hums back in answer, frowning.

"You do realise that I'm going to go to sleep dreaming sweet lesbian dreams, right?" he leers up at the ceiling and I reach over to smack him on the arm. "You are gay, right?"

"Yup." He hums again and now I can practically feel his smirk.

"I can't believe I thought of you and Rach together. You totally made out with your sister in my mind." I make a gagging sound and he chuckles. "Yeah. But seriously, I can't believe I didn't see it. I mean, other than the height difference and the short hair, you and Rach are pretty similar. Especially with the killer legs and the words. You Berry's like long words." He yawns and turns in his makeshift bed. "Can you sing?"

"Yeah, actually. I can. I'm not bad." He sighs. "Hey, Puckerman?"

"Mhmm?"

"Don't tell anyone that Rach and I are sisters. She doesn't want anyone to know." He murmurs a quiet 'okay' and then I know he's fallen asleep to dream his sweet lesbian dreams and I am left lying awake. I make a mental note to remind him in the morning not to tell anyone but other than that, all I can think of are images of **Unknown Number**, a terrifying Puckerman in all his protective anger, and his words 'you Berry's' echoing in my head.

**Hey Readers, me again. I hope you aren't too angry. I was procrastinating – shameful, I know - but you'll be happy to know that I've already almost nearly entirely finished the whole next chapter because I'm trying to update more frequently. Anyway, a little bit of Puckleberry friendship going on there (actually, quite a bit) and more Shelby bashing. Also, a note, I actually quite like Shelby and I ADORE Idina Menzel but I just really wanted this kind of Shelby for my character. I hope you enjoyed. As always, please leave a review…or two. Or three, however many you want really. I love reviews. I love seeing them. No pressure or anything… Happy reading, Readers! :)**

**(Oh, and the next chapter is a bit of Jo and a bit of Quinn in all her confused glory)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Nine**

**May I just say: I do not own Glee. My OC is my own. I have to say that I lied. It was completely by accident though. I told you guys that this chapter would be Jo AND Quinn and I had completely intended to do it like that but then a few plot bunnies jumped on me and, well, this happened instead. **

**Please enjoy.**

Saturday:

"_You heard your mother Josephine. Go to your room." I turned pleading eyes on my mother but she had already left for her own bedroom. His hand landed on my shoulder and, when I didn't immediately move to my room, his face twisted angrily and he clamped down harder on my shoulder and dragged me there. I didn't fight, I didn't scream, I didn't even make a sound. _

"Jo? Six letters for assess."

"Evaluate."

"_You have been a very bad girl Josephine." I hated this part the most. The patronizing. The voice that made it seem that he cared. I was thirteen today for Christ's sake! I wasn't stupid. "You have made your mother very sad, do you understand?" Or maybe it was this part I hated the most. _

"_Yes sir." Having to answer him as I'd been taught. _

"_And you understand that you have to be punished?" I kept my face perfectly blank. _

"_Yes sir." He nodded approvingly. Approvingly – ha! What irony. It hurts me that I can't gain approval anywhere else or from anyone else, but in order to gain approval I have to be physically hurt. Damn, blasted irony. _

"Jo? Four-letter word for dull. Starts with 'd'."

"Drab."

"_Turn around then. And count them for me Josephine." I turned and placed my hands against the wall and counted each lash of his belt. One. Two. Three. Four. It went on and on and eventually, of course, I faltered. I gasped. I'm not quite sure what I did but I do know that he didn't stop. He didn't stop even after I sank to the floor and curled into a tight ball, wrapping my arms around my head. . After a moments pause, he hit harder than ever and it bit deeper into my flesh and I realised that he'd begun using the belt buckle instead. I still didn't make a sound. That would just anger him more._

"Seven letter word for char. Starts with 'b'."

"Stop bothering the girl, Leroy."

"Oh shush Hiram. She's practically a crossword genius. Jo? Char?"

"Try blacken." I murmur.

"Ah yes. Thank you."

_Finally, he stopped. He was panting. "Will you be better now Josephine?" How I wished that, just once, I had the strength to spit in his face and tell him no, I won't be better. Screw you. But then again, that would be stupid. And Josephine Maria Corcoran is anything but stupid. So I kept my gaze on the floorboards and nodded quietly. It wasn't good enough. He dropped down into a crouch next to me and I flinched despite trying not to. He cooed and laid a heavy hand very deliberately on my back. _

"Eight letter word for 'hugging'."

"Embraces."

"Hmm, no. It doesn't fit." I pause.

"Try cuddling."

"Oh yes, there we go."

"_Darling, sweetheart. I know that it hurts. But you hurt your mother very much when you yelled at her. Now. Tell me that you will be better from now on and I will let you sleep here." I stayed silent. I don't think I could have spoken without whimpering – he'd never gone this far before. He had never lost control. He wasn't acting like he'd lost control but I knew the signs. He was shifting, his eyes were angry, he was trying to control every aspect of tonight – usually he just made me apologise and left but he had to know that he had control. He had to know that he was the boss. There were shooting pains in every part of my body and my mind was screaming at me. I couldn't think, let alone speak. He sighed and patted me on the back. I arched instinctively and bit my lip hard to avoid making a sound. The copper taste of blood steadied me. "Very well. To the cupboard then Josephine." I closed my eyes and breathed shallowly through my nose as he pulled me to the cupboard and sat me down. The darkness was overwhelming, suffocating. The darkness was—_

"Are you alright, Jo?" I suppose my grimace and/or slightly haggard breathing made him think I wasn't. Ludicrous…

"Fine thanks Leroy." He put down his weekend crossword and frowns over at me.

"Are you sure? You're being awfully quiet." I just nod and he shares a look with his husband that I can easily interpret as 'you should talk to her.' 'No, _you_ should talk to her.' Before they could figure out which of them was going to talk to me, and about what, I had escaped upstairs. I fall onto my bed and sigh, staring up at the ceiling. I hope that if I focus on that funny, tiny little patch of discoloured paint above me I can ignore the unrelenting flood of memories that persist in making their presence known. _Happy Birthday to me. _

"Jo? Are you alright?" Rachel's head appears in the doorway and I smile at her but I don't say anything. "Dad and Daddy are arguing about whether or not to come upstairs and talk to you. They are getting quite loud."

"What are their arguments?" I murmur. Rachel listens for a moment.

"Well, Daddy says that you are still a somewhat rebellious teen and that you shouldn't have to explain all of your actions and that just because you aren't talking very much doesn't mean that you are unwell. Dad says that you are normally verbose and that your silence is a desperate plea for help that they have the duty of answering." I can't help but smirk at that. Rachel blushes. "Yes. I get my slightly more dramatic side from Dad." That's Rachel. The Queen of Understatement. She closes the door behind her and comes to lie down next to me. "Are you okay?" I nod again. "Okay."

For once, Rachel says nothing else and just lies next to me. I will say this – it does a surprisingly good job at chasing away demons. Having someone beside you, that is. I've never let anyone else lie with me, especially on days like today. It's nice to know that I have someone on my side.

"Jo?" The door opens wide and Leroy pokes his head in. "Oh hello darling." Rachel waves lazily but other than that she doesn't make any motion to leave. "Jo, sweetheart," I tense at the name and Rachel lays her hand on mine.

"Dad, maybe now isn't the best time. Jo is kind of tired." He nods and whispers a 'sleep well' and leaves. "You are tired, right?" She glances over at me and I shrug. I don't say anything because I'm afraid that the second I open my mouth everything will come pouring out and, to be honest, I'd be a mess. I've never been great with emotions. Again, she doesn't press. She changes the topic instead and I'm grateful.

"Puck will be over in a couple of minutes." I arch a brow because he'd been in the house all morning and she lets out a wicked grin in response. "He left to get the paintball guns. We are going to play in the park – want to join in?"

Let me think about that – mope around on my birthday and think about vile things, or join in some mindless violent fun with my best friends? I nod frantically and she laughs.

"Okay, relax. We were going to invite you anyway. I'll get your vest." She darts out of the room and returns with a vest, two paintball guns, and Puck in tow. (I can't believe she has vests to play paintball in – and that she has one made especially for me. I can tell because it has 'Jo' embroidered onto the left breast.)

"Sup Jewish Princess, Jewish Princess 2.0." I roll my eyes. I'd already told him a dozen times that I wasn't Jewish but he just told me not to rain on his parade, which in turn sets Rachel off into singing – 'Don't Rain on my Parade', obviously – and eventually I just gave up. I return the slight head nod/jerk that all guys seem to greet each other with and grab the gun off Puck. "Let's do this."

An hour later and I am battered and bruised but feeling _much_ better. In fact, though they didn't know it, this has been my best birthday party by far in my whole life.

"Hey Jo?" Puck is backing away slowly from Rachel. I'm right beside him and we are both firing away but, with as scarily awesome as she is, we can't seem to hit her.

"Yeah." I answer half-heartedly because I am distracted. She's disappeared. How could she possibly have disappeared in an open field?

"You got any time to tutor me?" I falter and turn to him – which is all the opening Rachel needs apparently because I feel three paint bullets thud into my vest.

"Dammit Puckerman!" I turn on him and fire angrily and he yelps. "That's for distracting me." He grins ruefully, still wincing.

"Sorry. Anyway, do you?" I quickly run through my schedule in my mind but my afternoons are full with the football team and my days are full of Brittany. When I don't answer after a few moments, Puck shrugs. "Hey no worries. It doesn't matter." I make a mental note to find a space for him and take up my gun. Rachel has disappeared (I have to ask her how she does that) so I lower it again.

"Why do you need to be tutored?" Puck's perpetual grin fades and he scowls.

"School sucks." I bristle because I _like_ learning, thank you very much and he notices. "Sorry. I suck at school, I guess. I'm barely passing and _there!_" I yank my gun up and we both fire at Rachel who has suddenly appeared. She pouts at the stains on her previously paint-free vest and Puck and I both grin at her. She rolls her eyes and runs away.

"Coward!" I call after her and she laughs.

"Actually, she calls it 'retreating in order to take advantage of tactical advantages'." Puck grins over at me and I shake my head. Yes, Rachel really would call it that. Well, she's gone now so I turn back to him and urge him to keep talking. "Anyway, I'm barely passing and I need to graduate because I want to make something of myself." He runs a hand through his mohawk – which looks like it has been tamed somewhat today though I guess that would be thanks to Rachel – and shrugs. "I look at Rach and she knows _exactly_ what she wants to do and who she wants to be. I dunno. I guess I want that for me to and she says 'the best way to insure that you have an optimal future is to excel at school'." I nod slowly. A twig cracks from behind me and I spin about instantly, dropping into a crouch, and shoot Rachel twice in the chest.

She drops her gun with a pout and crossed her arms. "How did you hear me?"

"Constant vigilance, little sister. Constant vigilance." She frowns slightly.

"Is that…a Harry Potter reference?" I grin.

"Of course. Mad Eye Moody. But he says it like this. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Rachel jumps and then glares at me so I grin at her and ruffle her hair. "I only ever quote the best, little sis." She rolls her eyes and I turn back to Puck. "Give me a day or so and I'll make time to help you, okay?" He nods easily and I unload a round onto his vest. "Also, I think I win."

Walking to my car, I grin. Other than a slightly depressing morning, this really has been the best. Birthday. _Ever_. Suddenly my phone buzzes in my pocket and I get the feeling that, once again, I've spoken too soon. And, as I usually am about things that make me upset, I'm right.

**From Unknown Number: It's been one week. How is Racehl?** Of course she wouldn't wish me a happy birthday. That's too much to hope for. But she_ knows_ that it's my birthday. Did she have to rub salt in the wound and blatantly state that she cares for Rachel and not for me? Apparently so.

**To Unknown Number: Plan is progressing fine. Bugger off.** I sigh at the message before deleting it. I didn't want to anger her – God knows what would happen if I did that.

**To Unknown Number: Plan is progressing fine. Your daughter is still wary. For you to make contact now is inadvisable. **

I don't get a reply. I drive slowly and carefully even though both Rachel and Puckerman are both looking at me strangely because I'm usually that one that they are yelling at to slow down – well, not Puckerman. I don't speed, and I'm only a little bit reckless. (You have to understand that I'm used to New York and, when we aren't stuck in a deadlock, we drive fast.) Anyway, I pull up in the driveway and _finally _feel the buzz of a reply. I race up to my room before I read it.

**From Unknown Number: Hurry up.**

In hindsight, I realise that this was a bad idea but some part of me had hoped against reason that she might have been taking a long time to reply because she was mustering up the courage to tell me happy birthday or to say something other than 'hurry up' but I throw my phone against the wall and I watch as it shatters into dozens of pieces.

I just stare at it. I'm not sure how long I was standing there for but eventually I kneel and rescue the SIM card, which looked fine. Then it was Hiram's turn to check on me apparently because he opens the door a fraction. When he sees the phone fragments, he pushes the door open fully and joins me in staring at them. I stand slowly and we stand side-by-side. He sticks his hands in his pockets. His desire to say something, anything, is practically emanating from him but, in the end, he just nods.

"Let's go get you a new phone." And with that he turns on his heel and heads downstairs. I follow him slowly. Was he angry? Upset? Disappointed? I swear at myself in my head. I ruined everything! Fuck but I'm a failure. He grabs his coat from the rack and yells out at Leroy. "Leroy! Jo and I are going to the store. Do you need anything?" Puckerman strides out of the kitchen, munching on a cookie, and hands a list to Hiram.

"Here you go Papa H. Poppa Leroy says that if you can't find all of these then don't bother coming home." Hiram rolls his eyes and Puckerman grins. "I'm telling Poppa Leroy."

"Telling me what? Did you roll your eyes at me Hiram?" Hiram just shakes his head and pecks his husband on the cheek.

"What did you break?" Puckerman whispers and I scowl.

"My phone." Strangely enough, Puckerman's eyes light up.

"You're getting a new one?" I nod slowly. "Can I come with? They've got this sweet new Nexus model that I wanted to check out." He swipes his jacket down and follows Hiram out to the car. Rachel skips out of the kitchen to join us but Leroy halts her in her tracks.

"I don't think so missy. You're helping me cooking seeing as you left your breakfast dishes for your sister to clean this morning." Her face falls. "Now say goodbye and help me make this ravioli." She waves miserably and I laugh as I join the boys in the car. They spend the entire drive arguing about different phones – and I think they moved onto cars at some point but I can't be certain – while I lounge in the back seat.

Much to their disappointment – as I'm sure they wanted to be in the store for hours on end to fiddle with all the gadgets – I walk into the store and pick up the first phone I like. Three questions later and I hand over my card (Hiram knocks that aside and pays for me). The boys gape at me.

"What?" I ask, defensive.

"I have never in my life seen a woman shop like that." I roll my eyes at Hiram. "No I'm serious. You didn't even look at anything else. Hell – I've never seen anyone shop like that." I shrug and slot my SIM card into the phone. I test it, sending a text to Hiram. His phone buzzes and, when he looks at the text, it was his turn to roll his eyes.

**To Hiram Berry: A Very Merry Un-Birthday to You.**

Surprisingly, it was Puck who looks at it and laughs. "Lewis Carrol. Genius." He spends the entire ride back humming the song and I knew then and there that I had to find a slot to tutor him in. He was smart! He just needs someone to help him. So I sneakily steal his schedule (nice alliteration, don't you think? My favourite is 'seven scholarly snakes supping on serpentine snacks' though I will admit that it is more sibilance than alliteration) and, after comparing it with Brittany's, I send her a text. (She entered her name on my phone, by the way.)

**To UnicornDancer: I have to tutor Puck. Will you be okay if Sanny and Quinn help you in Maths?**

Almost immediately I get a response.

**From UnicornDancer: Sure! Thx 4 ur hlp!**

I stare at the screen for a while before taking it to Puck. "What does this mean?" He laughs.

"Sure, thanks for your help." He translates. "Why are you talking to Brittany?" At my look he grins. "She's put her name as Unicorn Dancer in pretty much everyone's phone for ages." I flop down on the couch next to him.

"Oh, I'm just making space for you in my extraordinarily busy schedule." He brightens and slings an arm around my shoulders, which I shrug off.

"Cool. Wanna play COD?" I grab a controller.

"Fine. Just don't cry when I beat you Puckerman." I lose. Badly.

Monday:

I am exhausted. Utterly. I've extracted myself from Brittany and Santana (who I think has warmed up to me considerably since the pop quiz in Maths where Brittany got 87% - an accomplishment seeing as she thought algebra was a bra made of algae) and Rachel is nowhere in sight so I have decided to sequester myself in the library and, hopefully, get some shuteye. As is typical of my life at the moment, I am immediately disrupted.

"Jo." I lie perfectly still. Maybe he hasn't seen me yet. "Jo."

"I'm not here." I grumble against the pile of books I'm using as a pillow.

"I can see you." His voice is amused but I am_ not_ amused. He pulls out the seat next to me and sits.

"No you can't. I am a figment of your highly underworked imagination. I am not Jo, I am a clone." I yawn and wave a hand vaguely in front of where I'm guessing his face is. "These are not the droids you are looking for." I fall silent and the privacy intruder doesn't speak. Is it possible? Have my Jedi mind tricks worked? Has he left?

"You are super weird." Nope. Still there. I knock my head against the table a few times but then sit upright, yawning.

"What do you want Puckerman?" I hear him shift in his seat and he clears his throat nervously. Strange…Puckerman never gets nervous.

"I need your help." He sounds desperate. My eyelids slam open and I frown deeply.

"If you need money I have plenty and I am happy to lend you some. Alternatively, I don't know much about where to hide a body or how to clean up after a murder but I can Google it for you. I am fairly sure that no small amount of bleach is required. Let me go and-" I stand from the table to find some bleach but he wraps a hand around my wrist and tugs me to sit back down. Fortunately for him, and for his life, he lets go quickly.

"Wow, you and my Jew Babe are like, exactly the same. She rambles like a freak when she's tired." I scowl.

"I resent that comment." I tilt my head to the side and add, "and I resemble that comment too." He shakes his head and clears his throat again.

"Relax. I'm not in any trouble." He leans forward and takes my hand gently, looking into my eyes. I feel very uncomfortable. "I need you to help me…score with Jenny Davis." I scowl and yank my hand away.

"Ew Puckerman! I am not using my knowledge of females to help you 'score' with them!" He grins disarmingly and I know that soon enough I won't be able to stay angry with him – so I take this moment to punch him in the arm hard. "I'm going to the auditorium. To make this up to me, and to get rid of the images in my head, you have to bring me a coffee." He salutes and jumps up. Despite the fact that he is obviously a teenage boy, and therefore a pig, and the fact that he has the strange talent of being inappropriate at the worst possible times (like at dinner with Rachel's dads), he is a pretty good friend. And by good friend, I obviously mean that he brings me coffee when I tell him to.

I'm glad that the walk to the auditorium is pretty quick because I'm about to fall asleep and I would rather do that in a comfortable seat than in the middle of a hallway. Rachel is already on stage when I get there and singing her little (read: big) heart out. I move quietly to sit in the director's chair and listen to her intently. I applaud, of course, when she is done and her head snaps up to peer in my general direction.

"Jo?" I flick on the microphone.

"That was excellent Rach, but you were a little pitchy on that A." She's nodding and frowning slightly – not angrily, just thoughtfully. "Alright then. From the top."

I fall asleep during the third run-through but I wake up soon enough and grouchier than ever at the sound of applause. Brittany is sitting on the chair on my left and Santana next to her, and she is bouncing in her seat. She squeals into the microphone.

"That was great Rachie!" Rachel falters and gapes up at Brittany. "I really liked it."

"Brittany?" Rachel's voice is surprisingly small and Brittany nods until she remembers that Rachel can't really see her.

"Yeah, it's me. And Santana too and Jo. Sanny really liked your singing too. She's crying but you can't see. You're really good at singing Rachie but I'm better at dancing." I bark a laugh at Rachel's scowl because I know that at home, pinned on her corkboard of goals, is a note that says 'Be at Brittany level of Dancing!' (plus a whole lot of gold star stickers).

Santana growls and wipes her eyes. "I wasn't crying hobbit. I'm still a better singer than you anyways." She leans away from the mike and hands me a cup of coffee. "It's from Puck. He got distracted by one of the Cheerios." She rolls her eyes and I would have laughed or rolled my eyes as well but I was far too distracted by my own greedy sipping from the cup. Caffeine. The god's nectar. The life-giving liquid. Rachel, who has since moved to join us in the seats, snaps me out of my worship of caffeine.

"Can I have some?" I almost growl at her (_no one touches my coffee!_) but I realise that would be weird and turn it into a laugh instead.

"Absolutely not. Remember what happened last time?" She scowls at me and crosses her arms over her chest.

"That's not fair. That was a triple espresso shot and I was not accustomed to such high levels of caffeine." I grin up at her and take a long drink.

"This is also a triple shot and you are _still_ not accustomed to such high levels of caffeine." I mimic her scowl and she just scowls harder and stamps her foot.

"Are you sure the two of you aren't fucking? Because you argue like a couple. Wait; don't tell me if you are. The image of Berry fucking anything is kind of disturbing." This time it is Rachel who gags in disgust – and probably in offence as well - and I just grimace. I can't believe people still think that we are together. We've told them we aren't and it's been two weeks since I started tutoring here. Isn't there a rule that rumours settle down after about two weeks? "Okay, fine. I get it Hobbit. You aren't bumping uglies. No need to be so fucking dramatic about it." Rachel huffs and storms out of the auditorium. Satan rolls her eyes and Brittany beams to the point where I think glitter is going to come out of her eyes and rainbows from her mouth.

"Yay! I'll tell Quinn. She'll be so happy." Santana's eyes narrow and she turns to face Brittany. She scowls and – ooh! I know that scowl! That's her questioning scowl. Obviously, Brittany knew that as well because she answers the unasked question. "Haven't you noticed? Quinn is super protective of Rachel and she doesn't like the idea of anyone else touching her." I gape at Brittany because the way she says it makes it sound like the Ice Quinn has a major crush on Rachel. Which is ridiculous…right? Well, highly improbably seeing as, other than on the first day of school, Quinn hasn't talked to Rachel at all this year. I know that because Rachel mentions it occasionally. And by occasionally, I mean _constantly_.

'Why isn't Quinn talking to me? She isn't even insulting me. This is highly detrimental to the cohesion of the Glee framework. I _need_ to be able to discuss performances with everyone and make sure they understand their parts. She still isn't talking to me. I think she's started avoiding me.' It went on and on. Really. Something Quinn related every day at the very least. I would think that _they_ were the couple except for the fact that Rachel is very happily straight and I don't know the foggiest thing about the Ice Quinn other than the fact that she rules the school and the Cheerios with an iron fist.

"Alright…" I finally manage to say, deciding not to question Brittany's special kind of genius. Santana apparently agrees because she shrugs and goes back to filing her nails. I remember to double check with Santana that she is okay with me leaving maths class to tutor Puck and she waves me away with a nod. Both of them seem happy about it, so I think nothing more of it. It is strange when all parties are happy about an arrangement and I don't want to question it now that it's happened. I'm just going to be thankful and let it be.

I leave it at that because the caffeine hits my system and I am both highly energized and I also desperately need to pee so I sprint to the nearest bathroom and slam the door open, only to be faced with the strangest sight.

**Muhahahaha I'll leave it at that. Quinn POV next – I was going to have it in this chapter like I told you but then this kind of grew because I realised that I wanted a little bit of Hiram/Leroy interaction and a little bit of mean Shelby and more Puck/Rachel/Jo interaction and yeah…I didn't want it to be too long because I'm trying to keep the chapters at fun-sized fragments. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. Next chapter up sometime next week but I'm going back to uni very soon so I may have to slow down my updates. That being said, if I were to be inspired to write (say, through reviews?) then that would help. Cough cough. Happy reading, readers :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Ten**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee!**

**I had a really lovely flood of reviews so I am publishing Chapter Ten now. Some of you said 'you are so evil with that cliffhanger' and I was so delighted by it that this is your reward. Please keep reviewing, I absolutely love it. **

**Please enjoy.**

QUINN POV

The Cheerio's lounge is empty other than Santana, Brittany and myself. Why you may ask – isn't the Cheerio's lounge usually full of, well, Cheerios? Usually it is. But right now it is empty because I am _outraged_.

"She's dumping Brittany? Just like that?" Santana frowns at me but I'm already far too worked up about this to care. "How dare she? She's being paid to tutor _Britt_, not to go off with other students!" Santana chuckles lowly at that.

"Okay, first of all, it's one class and we are both in it to help Brittany _and_ she's promised to make it up to her later so, no, she's not _dumping_ Brittany. And secondly, you make it sound like she's fucking Puck, not tutoring him." I can feel my brows snap down into a frown.

"How do we know that she isn't? We don't know anything about her San." I am pacing. Santana's phone buzzes suddenly and she reads it. She looks up at me and sighs, slipping her nail file back into her purse. She stands from where she was lounging – on the couch next to Brittany – and moves over to the Cheerio coffee machine.

"Jo totally isn't fucking Puck, Quinn. She totally likes girls." Brittany pipes up from the couch. We ignore that. Santana glares at me as she flips the coffee machine 'on'.

"Q, I'm gonna lay some knowledge on you and yous best be listening, got it? The truth is that _you_ don't know anything about her because you haven't bothered to talk to her. Why? Because you are fucking terrified of failing. And what are you scared of failing at? Fucking manning up and apologising to Jo's constant companion – the fucking hobbit – like you've wanted to since the summer even though we all know that she forgives people like a little glittery fairy grants wishes." I frown. I'm not scared! "You _are_ scared Quinn. You've been avoiding RuPaul like you're a walnut and she's going to use that beak of hers to crack you open."

"Don't call her that!" I snap and Santana shrugs easily and turns around to fiddle with the coffee machine. She looks over her shoulder to smirk.

"Why does that annoy you Quinn? You're the one that came up with the names." I growl at her but she just smirks again and pours the coffee. When she makes no move to drink it I wonder who it is for – Brittany isn't allowed to drink coffee – but ignore it. I have better things to think about. For instance, that I hate Santana. I hate that I'm friends with her because she is _always_ right about anything concerning me and it freaking sucks. And even worse than that is that she knows she is right. I did come up with the names and I felt terrible about it then and I feel terrible about it now. And now I'm too scared to apologise to her because every time I see Rachel in the hallway or in class or in Glee or after Glee or that one time in the supermarket last weekend, I know that I want to apologise but my words get stuck in my throat or I suffer a complete mind blank and _FUCK!_ Santana is _still_ smirking at me.

That's it. If I can't tell Rachel that I'm sorry, I'll just have to show her. And that starts with Jo Corcoran, the woman that has changed everything. She just waltzed in here and picked Rachel, of all people, to befriend? I don't think so. She has undermined my authority by forbidding slushies – true, it was just slushies at Rachel, but people are mostly too scared to slushie anyone because they don't want to be kicked in the balls – and by changing Rachel's wardrobe and by improving the Glee club, and by tutoring everyone that needs it. And throughout it all, she doesn't give anything away. I can never tell what she is feeling or thinking and I don't like it.

"You have to slushie her." Santana arches a brow. I nod. "Corcoran. You have to slushie her." Santana rolls her eyes.

"Nope." She pops the 'p' to irritate me and smirks again.

"You have to," I stress. "I don't trust her. She is playing us. We have to let her know that she can't mess around with Rachel or with Glee." I stutter because Santana is giving me this look that says 'you are becoming super protective of Rachel and I am suddenly suspicious' so I tack on the 'or with Glee' in the hope that it will deflect her attention from my fixation on Rachel and it apparently works because she shrugs.

"Well I'm not going to do it. That freak is the best thing that has happened to Glee. Have you heard us? We are _amazing_. We sound, like, twenty times better and she is always there on time and it's only been a week and a half since she got here. She actually knows how to help us."

"And she found me the duck that was in Mr Schue's hat." Brittany says. I turn to look at her. "From his lesson on mallards. Did you forget?" She tilts her head to the side when I stare and blink at her – trying to figure out her thought process – and she frowns. "Sanny, I think Quinn is sick. She's not going to hurt Jo is she?" Santana shakes her head but I'm back on track now – for a moment I had been lost in the workings of Brittany's mind but I focus on Corcoran.

"That must be part of her plan. To get us to rely on her and then to leave when we need her the most. Rachel would be distraught if we let it go on for much longer and we'll lose at Sectionals." I'm getting worked up about it but Santana just sighs loudly, picks up the coffee, and holds her pinkie out to Brittany who hops up and links hers with Santana.

"Look, Q, I love you and all but just toughen the fuck up, grow a pair, and apologise to Rachel. Don't bother slushying Jo – there _is no point_. She's not trying to mess with us. She's really good to Britt and if you hurt her and she leaves I will end you." She turns and stalks out of the lounge. Even the sight of Brittany skipping along beside her does nothing to detract from her aura of badness – which I respect even if I don't like it sometimes. She is wrong though. I know she is. I need to protect Rachel (but only because of her place as Glee's star, of course) from this _Jo Corcoran_ and to do that I need to show Corcoran what will happen if she doesn't leave Rachel alone.

I sweep out of the lounge and run into Jenkins (the Junior Varsity Captain) who squeaks and apologises. I fix her with a stare and a smile. Yes, of course. Why didn't I think of that? Technically, this goes against 'the Plan' but it's worth it. I am the general of an extensive army – all I have to do is say the word and Corcoran will be drenched in slushie.

"Jenkins," I bark. "Jo Corcoran, the tutor. I need her slushied." For the first time in years, someone doesn't jump to fulfil my demand. Instead, she hangs her head and bites her lip.

"I can't," she whispers. She flinches, which is _absolutely_ the correct reaction because I am glaring at her head and hoping that it will explode with the force of my fury.

"And why is that?" I hiss. She flinches again.

"Santana Lopez has informed us that if Jo Corcoran is slushied we will be cheering with broken limbs." She meets my eyes. "I _need_ to be on the Cheerios, Quinn. I need this as a cheerleading scholarship to get into college. I can't gamble on her maybe breaking my limbs." I almost laugh at the thought that Santana would break bones but then I recall the terrifying look in her eyes when she is truly angry and nod slowly. She could probably do it. I swear colourfully and Jenkins runs away. I'm not bothered by that. I don't really care what people think of me. What I care about is that I now have no one to slushie Corcoran for me.

And suddenly, wonderfully, what I have to do is obvious. I stalk through the halls, looking for the one person who can tell me who Jo Corcoran is and _why_ Rachel trusts her – why Santana trusts her and why everything now seems to be revolving around her and why all of Rachel's attention is on her and not on me. No. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that I need to apologise to Rachel and I need all of her attention to do that and I don't have it because of this new tutor. And the only person who can tell me any of this is Rachel.

I see her exiting the auditorium and, without another moment in which to hesitate or think better of it, I grab her by the arm and pull her into the closest bathroom. I snarl at the girls who are checking themselves in the mirrors and the bathroom quickly empties. I check each stall to make sure it's empty and then turn to Rachel. She is standing there quietly, just watching me, and I cross my arms and frown at her.

"Who is Jo Corcoran?" Rachel's eyes widen and she tilts her head to the side slightly. I step forward. "Who is she Rachel? Why is she here and what is she planning to do because I don't trust her and neither should you. Why do you think she is your new best friend? She is _using_ you."

Rachel sucks in a breath. "I am offended by your implication that one must have an ulterior motive in order to be my friend." I sigh and rub my forehead, which is now throbbing. That was not what I meant but I don't have the time to deal with that at the moment. I take another step closer and it's getting harder to breathe – probably because she annoys me so much – and I can smell her shampoo and it's hard to think and remember what I want to know but I _have _to know.

"Rachel! Who. Is. She?"

Rachel's mouth opens to reply and her eyes are so wide and deep and invitingly brown and warm and I am staring and moving closer when the door slams open and, standing and staring in the doorway, is Jo _fucking_ Corcoran.

"Well now. Isn't this a pleasant little gathering?" She grins widely at me and I can feel myself boiling with anger. I was so close! I was talking to Rachel for the first time in weeks and this bitch has the gall to interrupt my conversation – no! Interrogation!

I glare at Jo and her grin fades. Okay, so maybe she doesn't deserve me glaring at her because I'm not entirely sure that she is playing us, but I hate not knowing and, yes, okay? I hate the fact that she interrupted my time with Rachel and that I can't apologise but _that's not the point_.

"This doesn't concern you, Corcoran." I sneer at her. Good. Keep it on track. Rachel hums worriedly.

"Actually, if you are questioning me about Jo, it does, technically, concern her." I sigh and close my eyes for a moment so I don't snap at Rachel. I'm not angry with her.

"Asking about me Quinnie? You shouldn't." She smirks broadly and moves subtly closer to Rachel until she is standing behind her and to the left and something about the combination of the smug smirk, the way she can stand so casually with Rachel and think nothing of it, and her calling me 'Quinnie' makes me snap.

"Fuck off Corcoran. I don't want to talk to you. I'm talking to Rachel." She nods.  
"Yeah, you are. Congrats. Talking to Rach for the first time in two weeks. Can't see why you would want to do that." Her voice is a layer of laughter over acerbic taunt and she moves again, this time in front of Rachel and she frowns very, very slightly. _She_ frowns at _me._ I should be the one frowning at her! She is the one trying to mess with me and with Rachel and with Glee and with my school, I remind myself.

"Fuck off Corcoran!" I growl it again and she tuts at me so I do the one thing that seems like a really good idea – until I realise that it wasn't. I slap her. Hard. I slap her hard across the face and her head snaps to the side and my hand is stinging and I take a shaking step back because I cannot believe I just did that and because she is staring at me with burning eyes and there is no trace of laughter left. With her jovial mask gone I realise that I'm messing with someone that is so much more than a stupid teenager. My stomach rebels and I feel like I'm about to throw up because I _hit_ someone and I couldn't stop myself and I'm going to turn out just like him and, oh god, I'm a terrible person. I can't keep thinking like this. I take a deep breath and stand perfectly still.

Rachel is the first to move. She jumps at me, yelling something, but Jo catches her around the waist and is holding her back easily. The blood is pounding in my ears and I can't hear her words. _I can't believe I just did that_. Rachel kicks at Jo and is squirming. I am clenching and unclenching my hand, which is still smarting from the force of my blow. _I can't believe I just did that. _I try to open my mouth to apologise but, as with Rachel, I can't say the words. So I don't try again. Instead, I force the sneer back on my face and make my eyes cold. I ignore Rachel and glare at Jo instead.

"Stop it Rachel." Jo growls at Rachel and, surprisingly, the diva stops struggling and instead grips tightly to Jo's jacket and takes a deep breath. She stares at me.

"I can't believe you did that Quinn." Her words echo my thoughts and her wide eyes are wet. She's about to cry. She turns to face Jo. "I demand that you allow me to assist in retribution."

"Permission denied." Jo smirks down at Rachel and it's strange – it's softer and kind of affectionate. Maybe she doesn't know how to smile and just smirks at everyone. Anyway, Rachel slumps and frowns at Jo. "Please Rachel, leave. I want to talk to Quinn on my own." Rachel pouts and stares intently at Jo, who just raises an eyebrow back at her, and they seem to be conversing silently. I feel like I'm intruding. Finally, Rachel throws her hands up in the air and storms out of the bathroom.

Jo waits until she is certain that Rachel is gone and out of earshot before making eye contract with me again. I take a half step backwards because of the intensity in her eyes – which is not hatred or anger. Just…intensity. I can see a faint red print of my hand on her face. Fuck. I still can't believe I did that.

"Who are you?" I didn't mean to say that. I meant to say something that sounded like an apology (preferably that would be an actual apology) but that came out instead. Jo doesn't answer, she just looks at me, and I hate this. I'm getting angry again. "Who the fuck are you? Who do you think you are, waltzing in here and disrupting everything? You've ruined everything!" I'm screaming at her but she doesn't look even the tiniest bit intimidated.

"I know you are confused Quinn. I know that sometimes it is easier to be angry than having to deal with stuff but that doesn't mean you can go around hitting people." She's speaking very softly and that, coupled with the look in her eyes, is scaring me more than when my father yells at me. Her eyes darken further. "I usually don't let people hit me. Not anymore. I don't like being hit, you see?" I don't like the casual way she is saying it. _You hit her Quinn, deal with it. She's doing to say it because it's true_.

"I'm not going to hurt you, don't worry about that." I wasn't. For some reason, it never occurred to me that she would hit me back. "But let me tell you that if you or your lackeys ever hit me again I will not hesitate to defend myself. I will reiterate for you. I don't like hitting girls but if they hit me I may just hit back. Understood?" I nod weakly. _I hit her_.

"Wonderful. Do you want to talk about anything else?" I shake my head. "Okay then." Neither of us speaks for a long moment. "Look, Quinn. Um…it's okay to be confused about stuff but you need to be able to work things out peacefully. You need to talk about things to someone that you trust and don't let stuff build up because that's when you do stupid things like hit people." She chuckles and shakes her head.

She moves to lean against the sinks and she has this expression in her eyes that makes me feel strangely understood. Which is terrifying, if you think about it, because I have no fucking clue what is going on. I wonder if she has ever felt like this, like everything is rushing out of control and she can't make it stop and she doesn't know which way is up or down. Or whether she's ever hit someone.

"Quinn." She looks uncomfortable. "Rachel is…my best friend. I don't want her hurt but I know that right now she is upset because someone she considers a friend isn't talking to her. That's _you_, by the way, Quinn." My eyes widen. "Maybe, um, maybe you should talk to her." I don't say anything. In fact, I'm barely moving or breathing and she chuckles again and shoves herself away from the sinks. "Think about it," she calls over her shoulder and leaves.

I am left standing in the middle of the bathroom for god knows how long. A girl – nameless and faceless to me – comes into the bathroom but I remember glaring at her so fiercely that she backs out and no one interrupts me again. I am shaking. _Okay,_ I think. _I need to sort this out._

One. I still don't know who Jo Corcoran is. Two. I still haven't figured out why I can't talk to/apologise to Rachel. Three. I hit Jo Corcoran. Four. She is very, very strange and intimidating and I am very confused.

My fingers are wrapped around my phone and I look down at it. A hazy plan forms in my mind and I hesitate before tapping out a message. The second I sent it I feel a shiver of apprehension climb my spine but shrug it away. Everything will be fine. More importantly, with this done, I feel a lot better.

I walk out of the bathroom more confident and self-assured than I have in weeks and try to find Santana. She'll be pleased to know that I didn't slushie anyone…though I won't mention that I slapped Jo. I know she wouldn't be happy about that, even if I don't know why she likes or trusts Jo. My hand is still stinging and I try to avoid looking at it, a difficult task since it is connected to me. _Forget about it_, I tell myself. _No apologies. Fabrays do not apologise, apparently. Just keep moving. Keep moving Fabray._

**And that's that folks. Please review. Happy reading, Readers :)**


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN:

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Eleven**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee!**

**Okay everyone, you've had another chapter from Quinn's POV – I think we all know what's going on there, don't you? The normal gay panic, suppressed lemon kind of thing? Yes – that is all correct, but super sleuths (you don't have to be super, it's pretty obvious) may detect a little bit more to it than that. Anyway, if any of you recall – which, hopefully, you don't – I accidently posted a chapter that was NOT the right chapter a little while ago. Chapter Six I think it was. It had Karofsky in it. If any of you read that one, consider it a preview to this chapter. If not, be pleasantly surprised by the following chapter. **

**Please enjoy.**

JO POV

"What is wrong with you?" Rachel pushes me into the wall. She looks immediately remorseful but covers it with a glare and, hands on hips, stares me down. I am confused. I normally am when it comes to my little sister because she is unusual – an eclectic accumulation of modesty, pride, nerves, talent, kindness, brilliance, and tactlessness – but thanks to that little altercation with Quinn, which I am still thinking about, I am doubly confused.

"Pardon?"

"I wasn't there when you were attacked by Santana and you came home battered and bruised! I couldn't protect you." She is glaring quite fiercely. I have the feeling that it would be cute if it weren't directed at me. "And then when Quinn is looking almost homicidal and has just _hit_ you, you send me away! What is wrong with you? Why won't you just let people help you? It is both a civic duty and a familial duty for me to assist you and protect you against aggressors if I am able to!" I smirk.

"I really don't think that is a civic duty Rach." She deflates a little but the only comeback she has at the ready is 'shut up.' "Rach, look at me." I hold my arms out to the side and turn in a circle. "I am fine, I assure you of that. Other than the slap – which barely hurt thank you very much – no blows were exchanged." Rachel frowns but insists on poking my cheek and making sure that I really am unharmed before engulfing me in a big hug. And, naturally, we have to be disturbed but a homophobic pig.

"God, lessos – keep it in your room." My head snaps up and I lock eyes with the bully. He is big and square. And, of course, I don't think about it before snapping at him. Think of it like this – since I didn't feel like I could hit Quinn back (not while she was looking at me with those huge terrified eyes. Question – scared of me or something else?) all of this rage and fear is kind of building up inside of me. I'm going to take it out on this arsehole.

"Back off dude." He sneers.

"Isn't that cute. Manhands found herself a girlfriend." He looks me up and down. "Not much of a girl though." I roll my eyes. Oh joy. What unimaginable wit and intelligence! "Hey Stubbles," he says, addressing Rachel and he takes a step forward. "Here's a slushie – congrats for coming out." He pulls his arm back to splash the cup in Rachel's face and I step in front of her so that it splashes on my chest instead. He laughs. I pin him with a glare and the few students in the hallway gasp. Apparently this was not a guy to be messed with – as is evident by the way Rachel is tugging on my arm – but I just smirk at him.

"What's your name?" He doesn't answer but Rachel whispers 'Dave Karofsky' from behind me. "Okay then Dave, this is how it's going to go down. I haven't had a great day so I'm going to just tell you to leave my best friend alone and, following that, you have two options." I hold up one finger in front of his face. I'm not sure how great his attention span is so I make it simple. "Option One. You can apologise right now, first to Rachel and then to me, and we walk away from this happy and you have all your limbs in tact." I slowly raise a second finger. "Option Two. You make some kind of rude remark and walk away. If that happens, I will tackle you to the ground and punch you in the face twice, quite possibly breaking your nose. Then I will let you stand up so you can try to hit me." I grin wildly. "Never let it be said that I'm not fair. I'll kick you in the nuts and then I will take your right hand and break your wrist if you don't apologise to us at that point."

Apparently I'm not very intimidating, or he is extremely stupid, because he laughs and, like I anticipated, tells me that I'm going to hell and if I need any help he can straighten me out –accompanied by a rude gesture. He turns to leave and I tackle him with ease, just like I promised.

I flip him over and punch him in the face twice. Hard. I feel his nose crack on the second punch and blood spurts, so I stand and let him get to his feet. A huge fist flies towards me. I modify my plan somewhat. I drop to the floor in a crouch and sweep his feet from under him. When he stands again, this time kind of unsteadily, he attacks me again.

"I will fuck you up, freak!" I ignore him and, when he goes to punch me again, I dart towards him, grab his jacket, bring my knee up sharply into his groin, and push him down gently to his knees. I grab his right hand and twist it, pulling it up and behind his back and crouch down next to him.

"I'm sure that you're bright enough to remember what happens if you don't apologise right now," I growl. I twist his arm sharply and he grunts. "I promised to break your wrist, remember?" He whimpers and I close my eyes against the sound. Fuck me, but I hate hurting people. _For Rachel_, I think. _He is a bully and he hurts Rachel_. "I'm going to give you to the count of ten to catch your breath and apologise before I break your wrist, mkay?" I count slowly. I've heard that it's pretty devastatingly painful to be kicked in the nuts. "One. Two…" I get to seven before he finally caves in (and I've been tightening my hold on his wrist the whole time and twisting slightly) and he cries out.

"I'm sorry for trying to slushie you Berry and saying that about you!" I purse my lips at his calling her 'Berry' but let it slide. I loosen my grip. "And I'm sorry for slushying you." He rushes the words out and, while I admit that they're slurred and sound funny because of the broken nose, they sound sincere. Pain can do that to a person. I let go of his arm and clap him on the shoulder, telling him to stay where he is. He seems pretty content to slump on the ground. The packed hallway – good old lunch time fun, watching a fight – clears in record time as people realise that now would be a good time to leave.

I glance to the left and see Santana staring at me from down the hall, where she is standing with Brittany, but I focus on Rachel who is pressed up against the wall opposite me. I walk towards her very slowly, hands out by my side so she can see them. I'm terrified that she's about to run away from me, which must have shown on my face because she softens and takes my left hand gingerly.

"Thank you Jo. Although I firmly believe that violence is never the answer, that was very brave, foolish, and sweet of you." She lowers her voice and flushes slightly. "And I'm sorry that he insinuated that we were together. I know that a lot of people have said that and you must hate it." Something in her voice alerts me to the fact that she is saying that self-deprecatingly and I scoff.

"Rach, I don't hate it because they think I'm with _you_. I hate it because you are my sister and that is gross and then I hate it because they are using it like an insult. It's not an insult to be with you – you are cool and funny and amazingly talented. It's just gross because you are my sister." I crinkle my nose and she gags as well but smiles at me.

"Thank you." I nod and catch her looking at the slushie stain on my shirt.

"Oh, hey, don't worry about it. I'll just drive home and get a new shirt. Brittany has a spare at the moment and Santana is helping studying with her." Rachel smiles and I smirk. "Run off to class then kiddo." I ruffle her hair and she scowls and whips around to look in the window, taming her hair. As she leaves, she asks me not to kill Dave but assures me that she would help me hide the body. I look over to make sure that he's still sitting there. Sure enough, he's there, and poking at his rapidly swelling broken nose, wincing.

I move to him but, before I can reach him, Santana grabs my elbow. I gently extricate myself from her grip. "If you can fight like that, why the fuck did you let me hit you?" I remember our little fight.

"I don't usually hit girls." She frowns like she doesn't believe me, which is fair enough. "Also, I kind of deserved your ass-kicking." I lowered my voice and lean in to her. "I didn't mean what I said to you about Britt. Just thought you should know that." I lean back and smirk, shrugging. "I won't be back for a while so look after Britt today, okay?" She gives me a look that I interpret as 'of course I will, you dolt' and she stalks away, hooking her pinkie with Brittany's. The ditzy but utterly adorable blonde waves goodbye to me and I wave back before turning to Dave and crouching next to him. Hopefully the smile will creep the fuck out of him and he won't challenge me or something else that will make me have to hit him again.

He looks up at me and flinches, obviously anticipating a flying kick to the face from me. I sigh and listen to the sinking feeling in my gut that tells me that I have to make this right or I will hate myself forever.

"Can you stand?" I ask him, voice mild and calm, and his eyes widen and dart around nervously. "Dave. Relax. I'm not asking you so that I can beat you up some more." He stares at me for a while before nodding and attempting to stand. He staggers and I dart forward, wrapping my arms around him – one around his shoulders, one under his armpit. I help him up and lean him against the lockers. He is still eyeing me warily so I take a big step back and extend my hand slowly.

"Hi there. I am Jo Corcoran. Sorry for, you know, hitting you." He blinks. I find myself rambling to him almost immediately. I usually do ramble to my victims. "Rachel is my best friend, okay? We aren't dating or anything like that. I think of her as a sister and I'm sorry that I hurt you but I get very protective and I was really angry when I found out that people were bullying her at the start of term, so I guess I took most of that out on you and that wasn't fair. I did warn you that I would do all of that," I gesture at the damage and at the blood that is trickling from his nose, despite his pinching it shut. "I probably shouldn't have broken your nose. Sorry." I take a deep breath. I hate being nervous. My left hand is tapping rapidly on my thigh and he still hasn't accepted my right hand to shake, so I pull it back awkwardly.

I fish my car keys out of my pocket and nod to the doorway. "Come with me." I turn on my heel and hear him shuffling behind me. I probably hit him harder than I had intended to if he was consensually following the person who beat him up…

I open the passenger door of my car for him, which he slips into after a moment. "Are they ever going to find my body?" He asks timidly after a few minutes of my driving and I flash him a grin.

"If I was going to kill you then no, they wouldn't find your body. Rachel promised to help me hide you if I did and she's pretty devious." He nods slowly.

"So… you aren't going to kill me?" I shake me head no.

"Not today Dave. Didn't you hear my apology before?" He nods again, shrugging.

"Yeah, but I thought that it was one of those things that girls do to confuse you and then make you feel worse." I laugh.  
"Nah, think of it as guy logic. You were an ass so I hit you and now we're all good." He thinks about it for a moment and nods.

"I should be grateful for that, I think. Most girls can hold grudges for years and if you did that too you could beat me up heaps." He chuckles slightly. "So, where are you taking me?" I don't answer because I am already pulling into a park and he peers out the window. "The hospital? Are you planning on breaking my legs and dumping me here?" I smirk. I like his humour.

"Get out smartarse. I said I was sorry for punching you, so let me make it up to you by making sure that you're okay." His face slackens and I freak out for a second because I think he's having an aneurysm or a stroke or something but I realise that it is just shock. He pulls himself out of the car and I jog around to walk next to him in case he falls over. We slowly make our way to the reception with me smothering a grin because I know that the reason he is walking like a bowlegged cowboy is because I kicked him in the balls (that's not funny people. Don't kick people in the dangling bits unless in self-defence. It can have serious medical repurcussions.)

We are shown to a treatment room and, when the doctor is finished patching him up and we're waiting for the bill and to be discharged, I purse my lips and think _'what the hell, why not_' and say what I've been thinking for a little while.

"Why do you hate gays?" From his attitude – and his insults – it is obvious that he's somewhat homophobic. He looks so miserable for a moment that it's my turn to be shocked and I just say 'oh'. He whips his head up and glares at me, but the raccoon eyes that are now showing are making it less impressive.

"What? Why did you say that? Tell me!" He's panicking so I move to sit next to him.

"Dave, relax. I said that because, well, are you gay?" His face falls and he clenches a fist.

"No! I'm not gay!" He takes a deep breath. "Being gay is disgusting and gross and a sin. I'm…I'm not gay!" I lay a hand on top of his.

"Dave. Relax. I'm certainly not going to judge you. I'm gay, did you know?" He flinches and averts his eyes – probably thinking that he's just insulted gays again and I have made it clear that I can beat him up. Which he did. And I can. I run a hand through my hair and sigh. "Look, Dave." I think back to what Rachel said to me when she thought I'd insulted Santana. "It must suck to be gay in a town like Lima. New York is tolerant of the homosexual community so that's pretty cool." I don't look in his eyes because, well, I'm not really comfortable with giving advice and emotions and stuff like that (and yet I seem to be doing a heck of a lot of it). "Um, I guess you just have to remember that Lima, Ohio is not the entire world and that high school is not your whole life. And there are people that will be important to you that will like you despite or because you are gay. The people important to me don't think I'm disgusting or gross." I smirk to show him I'm teasing. "And honestly, as far as I'm concerned, if God doesn't like gays and that makes me a sinner, He can go to hell."

I know that he's been listening but he still looks miserable so I search my brain to find something that could help him, or cheer him up or _something_. "It doesn't define who I am, you know. I'm a bitch, and immensely intelligent, and modest, and a black belt, and I like to eat an unhealthy amount of m'n'ms and I just _happen_ to like girls. So what?" I shrug and, thank god, he finally blinks and smiles. Just a tiny bit, but it's a smile so I count that as a success.

"I like m'n'ms," he murmurs and I grin at him. So what if he avoided the main point of my speech?

"Dave, I think we are going to be good friends." I extend my hand again, like I had earlier at school. "Jo Corcoran, lesbian."

"Don't you think it's a little weird that you broke my nose and now we're friends?" I frown. Good point. But then again, that's how I made my first (and only, other than Rachel and Puck) friend so it's not really that strange for me.

"No."

"Oh." He stares at my hand before taking it in his own huge hand (I am tempted to call it a paw) and shakes it firmly.

"Dave Karofsky." He pauses and takes a deep breath. "I'm a jerk and I really like to draw. I play hockey and football and…I like guys." I beam at him and he laughs. "Huh. Maybe you've really got something going. It's easier to talk to someone that's punched your face in than to any of your other friends. Not that I really have any friends. Everyone is scared of me and my best friend, Azimio, is a homophobe." I frown thoughtfully.

"Azimio…big black dude?" Dave nods. "I think I kicked him in the nuts the other day." Dave grins and nods again. "Good time Davey, good times." I sling an arm around his shoulders. I don't normally touch people, or let people touch me, but maybe it's the fact that he's gay or maybe it's because I've punched him in the face and he really _knows_ that I can kick his ass, but I feel relaxed and comfortable enough to hug his shoulders. We wait in silence for the doctor to return and discharge Dave.

I spend the time contemplating the strangeness of all of this. I never really _did_ anything in New York but the moment I arrive in Lima, Ohio and I meet my sister, all this drama starts. First – I am accepted into an extraordinarily gay family, then a very attractive girl pummels me, I tutor said girl's secret girlfriend/lover, I become advisor to the Glee Club (which seems to be made up of a bunch of gossipy teens, other than my sister who is supremely talented, and a giant barely-adequate male lead), I became friends with a sex shark (whom I would normally have avoided), I've been slapped by the Ice Quinn, and I've made friends with a closet-case homophobic-and-yet-gay bully. Life is good…

"Okay then. Everything looks good Mr Karofsky. You and your girlfriend can leave by the front desk." We glance at each other and grin but don't bother to dissuade the doctor. At the reception, I hand over my card to pay for the fees.

"Relax Dave. It's the least I can do and I have plenty of money to pay for the nose that I broke." He nods reluctantly. "Do you really want to try to explain to your parents why they are being billed for your broken nose? I guarantee that you will freak out and out yourself." That appears to be the clincher and he nods quickly for me to pay. I glance at the clock and wince. 2:56. Crap. I whip out my phone and send off a text to Rachel.

**To Rachel Berry *: Meet you in the car park.** Almost immediately I get a response.

**From Rachel Berry*: Okay. See you there. **

I take back my card from the receptionist and usher Dave to my car, speeding back to the school. (Well, not speeding exactly. Just driving at the upper most part of the speed limit. I do not encourage speeding – it is dangerous people!) I make Dave move to the back seat of the car as Rachel approaches and, when she sees who is sitting in the car, she pauses. She looks at me and I nod reassuringly so she hops in. The car ride home is abnormally quiet and Dave shifts uneasily in his seat. Rachel eyes him in the mirror and watches his every move. I just watch the road.

Rachel jumps out of the car when I pull into the driveway and I tug Dave inside. "No, Jo, I really don't think I should." He argues. He looks kind of strange – talk and hulking – in the front room of the Berry's house. "Berry really doesn't want me here." He is shifting his weight from foot to foot and shoves his hands deep into his pocket.

"While that is true, I would certainly not send you away without knowing that you are well." Rachel has returned and holds out an icepack to Dave who takes it from her gingerly and holds it to his nose. I can see two men – Leroy and Hiram, obviously – peeking around the corner of the kitchen and I know that Dave hasn't seen them.

"Um, thanks Berry." Rachel nods stiffly and I don't know quite where to stand. On one hand, I know that I should back up my sister and I do take her side on the fact that he has bullied her for ages and she shouldn't just forgive him because I punched him in the face. On the other hand, I think that Dave is misunderstood and angry and took it out on the wrong people and also that he has a wicked sense of humour and he could, potentially, be a very good friend. He takes a deep breath and I know that this is the make-it-or-break-it moment. I just hope that he knows it too. He fixes his gaze on the ground and I just hope he says 'sorry' or something. It's better than that.

"Look, Berry. Shit. Sorry. Rachel. I'm, um, I'm sorry." He stutters. He lets the icepack fall from his face and licks his lips. His words are still a little slurred because of his nose but fully understandable. But from the look on Rachel's face, I don't think she really believes she's hearing it. "I know there's no excuse for what I did to you, like, you know, the slushies and stuff, and I know you never deserved it. I, um, I've been dealing with some stuff and I did it badly and I made some stupid mistakes and um, I know that's no excuse. You were the easiest person to pick on because you're so different and I think I hated that 'cause you are so sure of yourself and I know it sucks and I'm sorry and…yeah." He hands me the icepack, which I take, and slowly extends a hand towards Rachel. She looks at it for a long moment before taking it quietly, shaking it once. She turns and walks away to the kitchen where Leroy and Hiram are standing there, equal parts shocked and angry.

Dave turns to me and gives me a hesitant grin. "That's the best I can do at the moment." I blink. It's more than I had expected from him. Honestly. I didn't think he would have had a complete turn about so soon. Then again, he probably had a turn about ages ago but had no way to implement it and today was the first chance he'd seen to try and fix things…

"Thanks for telling me all that stuff." I just nod and he leans in to whisper in my ear. "Can you, like, not tell anyone about what we talked about?" I nod again easily and he grins widely in response, and then winced when it shifts his nose. "Cool." He loiters for a second. "Can I give you my phone number?" I nod again, handing over my phone. If he thinks it strange that I only have five numbers saved in it – Leroy, Hiram, Rachel, Puck, and Brittany – he says nothing and just waves goodbye, and nods to Rachel who stares at him. The door closes behind him and the sudden silence echoes for a long moment.

"What the _hell_ was that?" She wasn't angry, just shocked. I blink at the door.

"I think I just made a friend." I murmur but then shake myself out of my shock. "But other than that, about the speech? I have no clue. Really. We talked and I thought maybe he'd just say sorry but I didn't know he would say any of that stuff." Rachel stares at me intently. "Honest to God." I hold my hand up as if swearing an oath and she nods.

"What did you talk about?"

I hesitate for a moment but shake my head. The first test of friendship. "I can't tell you. It's a secret." She scowls and I scowl right back. "He might be a bully and he might have been mean to you for ages but I told him that I wouldn't tell anyone and it isn't anything that will affect you so, no, I won't tell you. It is a _secret_," I stress and she huffs.

"Fine."

"Fine," I say right back and Leroy and Hiram exchange shrugs.

"Well then girls. Enough drama." Leroy claps his hands and grins at us. "Wash your hands and come and help me make dinner."

**So that's that. I hope you enjoyed it. I'm aware that it seems slightly sudden but I need it to happen and I really like it. I really like Dave in the series – other than the bullying, of course – and I think he deserves a bit of relief and maybe a friend. Please review. Happy reading, readers :)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Twelve**

**Disclaimer: Glee is not mine. **

**Howdy y'all. I hope you're having a fantabulous day :) Next instalment in the story and I hope you like it!**

JO POV

I'm becoming slightly paranoid. And by 'slightly', I mean very, _very_ paranoid. Why, you ask? I'll tell you why. I am paranoid because the Ice Quinn is watching me. She has been undeniably uncomfortably out-of-her-element and, therefore, scared in the bathroom - an incident that I haven't had much time to dwell upon, though it had been strange (but please, for ease of narrative, let's just add it to the ever-growing list of strange happenings that have been going on) – and then she slapped me. Now, it seems, she is watching me. It's pretty obvious that she doesn't trust me, which is fine in and of itself, but I'm more nervous about the fact that she has the entire school at her beck and call. 'Head Cheerio' is no empty title, it seems. So, mistrustful, control freak tendencies, and she hates me – and she has an army of jocks and cheerleaders that wander about armed with icy beverages at her immediate disposal.

"No. Absolutely not." I scowl at Rachel who obstinately crosses her arms and stamps her foot.

"Rachel…" I say warningly.

"No! I am not letting you do that. Give it to me!" She snatches at the bottle and I use my height advantage to hold it high above my head where she can't reach. She jumps for it anyway and tries to tug my arm down. "I don't care how paranoid you are. You are _not _dyeing your hair!" I'm running through the living room now and dodging her, and she jumps on my back, stretching herself over my shoulder at the bottle. "Give. It. To. Me!"

"Girls!" Hiram bellows and we come to an abrupt stop. He has his arms crossed and his thick brows are lowered dangerously over angry eyes. "Give it to me." He holds his hand out expectantly and I reluctantly hand over the hair dye. He coughs and glares at Rachel who slides slowly off of my back. "Right. To either side of the room, please girls. _Now._" He points Rachel in the direction of the couch – she slumps there, her chin set stubbornly – and he shoos me away to sit in the armchair opposite. "No talking for five minutes." He gives us each a glare for good measure and then nods.

We probably last about, oh, thirty seconds before we start hissing quietly at each other.

"This is your fault."

"My fault?" I point to my chest with a 'who – me?' expression and then jab her in the chest lightly. "You're the one who won't let me do it."

"Yes, because paranoia is not a viable reason for dying your hair. That doesn't even make sense!" I fall back into the armchair and cross my arms.

"It does make sense. If I dye my hair then she might not recognise me. Also, most of the people at your school are stupid." I pout for a moment longer. "I wouldn't even _be_ paranoid if not for you." (A lie. A blatant lie. I'm always paranoid.)

"Me? What did I do?"

"Well _nothing_ apparently and now Quinn is baying for my blood because you still haven't spoken to her."

"She hasn't spoken to me!" Rachel shrieks and then sucks in a deep breath. I'd be amused…but I'm not. "I think you're being a little dramatic Jo. Quinn hasn't spoken to you in a week-"

"Yeah, since she _slapped_ me." Rachel glares fiercely. "And she doesn't have to say anything. She just stares at me and all of her lackeys stare at me and I'm freaking out!" Rachel growls and jumps to her feet.

"Quinn isn't going to hurt you Jo. She isn't like that!" We are standing nose to nose and I can almost feel my eyes sparking with anger, much like I can see the fury in Rachel's eyes.

Suddenly Hiram is back, arms crossed, and he is frowning.

"Do I need to send you to your rooms girls?" We hold eye contact for a moment longer, neither of us prepared to back down, before Rachel breaks it off to send an innocent look to her face (which was surprisingly convincing despite the fact that I knew she was most decidedly evil). He doesn't buy it though, giving her a wry look before turning to me.

"No sir." He nods once.

"Alright then. You have three minutes left of _silence_." We give him identical guileless smiles and he sighs. "At least try to keep it down. Your dad has a headache." He turns on his heel and we wait until he's gone into his room to turn back to each other. Rachel's gaze is appraising and I know that she can tell I'm waiting for her to speak.

"This is _so_ your fault," I mutter.

"Oh please. You're the one that practically goaded Quinn into hitting you. It's _your_ fault that she hit you and it's your fault if she dislikes you because you were quite horrendous in the bathroom." I frown at her utterly certain tone. I'd only been defending Rachel. But I hate to think that she's right – if she is, that means I've brought everything upon myself. I nod slowly.

"I guess." Rachel nods again and sinks back into the couch. I would have laughed at her victorious posture except, as I said before, I'm _still_ not amused and I've also suddenly been consumed by a gut-wrenching fear that it was my fault. Everything was _my_ fault. That fear did nothing to lessen the fact that my paranoia was well and truly activated. _Maybe I should wear a mask to school tomorrow…_

I didn't end up wearing a mask, or dyeing my hair, or using any form of disguise. Instead, I just used the good, old-fashioned avoidance technique. And a good deal of hiding. Mostly hiding. I'm not _scared_, per se, but the Ice Quinn has a lot of followers and those followers are mostly stupid so I think that there is the potential for a great deal of damage to be done. And mostly that damage would be done to me.

"Hi Jo." Brittany, of course, is the one to find me. She is amazing. "What are you doing?" She tilts her head curiously to the side. I'm sitting under a table in the library. The table, to be exact, farthest from any doors and next to the most boring sections so I am unlikely to be found or disturbed by anyone (other than snogging teens). I am also reading. I hold my book up to Brittany and she nods.

"Why are you sitting under the table though?" I bite my lip and let the fingers of my left hand beat a slow tattoo on the hard cover of my book. It's a reassuring sound. _How do I tell her that I'm being unusually strange and cautious because of her best friends is terrifying me?_

"Quinn is scaring me." Like that, apparently. Thank you mouth for speaking without letting my brain think first…Brittany just nods though and waits for me to continue. "She's watching me and it's getting a little creepy."

"You're watching her too," she points out, nose wrinkling thoughtfully. I tap the end of her nose with my forefinger and she smiles softly, eyes crossed to watch my finger.

"That is correct. I am watching her." Brittany scoots to sit next to me and we frown together in companionable silence.

"What if you stop watching her? Maybe she'll stop watching you." I manage to stop myself from scoffing and telling her that will just expedite the likelihood of my death/punishment/whatever it is that Ice Quinn plans to do with me. Brittany being Brittany, she seems to know what I'm thinking and hums quietly. She pulls her schoolbag (which, by the way, is the most adorable schoolbag I've ever seen. It is bright blue with yellow ducks all over it) towards her and yanks out various objects including but not restricted to the following: a pack of gum, a soda can, a drawing of a cat and a snowman, an empty jar, an incomplete English essay (which I snag), her maths textbook, something that appears to be the blueprints of the school and, with a gleeful sound, a pack of cards. She holds up the cards with a smile.

"Want to play snap?" It is my turn to look at her curiously. "Well, you can't do anything about Quinn because she's in her scary mode," Brittany pouts sadly, "and I don't want you to get warts so stop worrying and play snap!" She smiles winningly and holds the cards out to me.

"Warts?"

"Because you're a worry wart. That's what Sanny called you." I smile at the thought of Santana calling me a 'worry wart' instead of her generally more favoured profanities and nod.

"Of course. Warts…" Brittany nudges my hand with the pack of cards, which I take. "I _would_ like to play snap, but I think we should do your English first," I hold up the essay, "and then go over the Maths you did today to make sure that you understand it." She pouts and I tap her nose again. "And after that, if Sanny is still running errands for your mysterious Coach, I will play snap with you. I promise."

She holds out her pinkie with the most serious expression I've seen on her face to date, and I link my own pinkie equally solemnly. The second I do, her mouth curves upwards into a smile and she pulls the essay onto her lap.

"Let's do this!"

An hour later we've finished her English and her maths and I've managed to find several ways to gift her with numerous stamps that say things like 'you're awesome' and 'perfect!', three smiley face stickers, a unicorn sticker, and I've stuck a duck onto her forehead. (A little known fact, I _love_ stickers.) We are halfway through our second game of snap (I stopped trying to play easy on her in the first game when I realised that she was thrashing me) when we hear Santana's voice.

"Brittany? Jo?" Blast. She'd found us. Well, not exactly. Her voice was coming from across the library, at the main entrance. Brittany giggles and throws a hand over my mouth so I can't answer her.

"Let's play hide-and-go-seek!" She whispers in my ear and I grin behind her hand at her adorableness (and, though my computer dictionary accepts it, I am not entirely certain that 'adorableness' is a real word. But really, who cares?) I nod and she takes her hand away so that I can quickly pull our books closer so Santana won't spot them easily. We shuffle backwards so that out backs are pressed against the wall. Brittany drops her hand onto mine and grips my hand tightly, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Britt-Britt? Are you in here?" Brittany giggles again and I can practically _feel_ Santana smiling at the sound. "I can hear you Britt." Her footsteps come closer. "Is Jo there as well?"

"Yes!" Brittany answers, and it's my turn to press a hand to Brittany's mouth, shushing her. Santana's footsteps pause and they turn in our direction. Brittany's eyes widen and I can feel her smiling into my palm.

"Won't you tell me where you are Brittany?" Santana wheedles and I am using my super strength to keep from laughing and dying with the utter adorableness (there it is again!) of these girls. Brittany is shaking her head and grinning gleefully, forgetting that Santana can't see her. I also get the feeling that this charade has happened before. Santana's feet stop right next to our desk and she is standing practically on top of Brittany's duck eraser. "What's this? Brittany's duck?" Santana kneels to pick it up and Brittany tackles her in a hug.

Santana falls on her behind, hugging her blonde to her, and joins Brittany in laughing hysterically and ignoring the librarian when they are shushed. I edge out from under the table and pack up Brittany's books for her into her duck-themed schoolbag. I grow uncomfortable as Santana asks her about the tutoring session and compliments Britt on her duck sticker, and try not to eavesdrop on the murmuring almost-couple.

When I think that Santana has mostly forgotten my presence, I clear my throat. Their lips were getting awfully close and I don't think Santana really wants people to walk in on them making out in the middle (read: back but still easily accessible by people with legs) of the library. Santana flushes lightly and tugs Brittany to stand and she lounges against the table, flipping idly through the maths textbooks.

"You weren't kidding when you said you'd make time to help Britt with maths. We were fine in class but Britt missed you." I shrug.

"Puck needs help too but I'm happy to make time for Britt. She's the best."

"And she says I'm not stupid Sanny, just like you." Santana's eyes darken – with anger, I presume – and I grin at Brittany.

"You most certainly aren't stupid Brittany. I don't think anyone else at the school knows the migratory patterns of ducks quite as well as you do. And I _know_ that they aren't nearly as clever at figuring people out. You've got a talent Britt." She beams at me and Santana manages a crooked smirk that is the nearest to a smile that I've ever seen from her. "But you have to go. Brittany was saying something about dinner at Casa de Lopez and I have to wait for Rach so…vamoose. Skedaddle. Away with you." Brittany flings her arms around my neck and pecks me on the cheek, whisking her bag out of my hands and skipping out of the library. I touch my cheek lightly and turn a questioning look on Santana, but she just shrugs and gives me a little glare. I understand why Brittany did it when I see Santana sneakily slip her whole hand into Brittany's rather than just linking pinkies. My smirk softens when I see the joy on Brittany's face. That girl is smart – getting Sanny jealous by kissing my cheek was a bold move. I just hope that Santana doesn't disembowel me, or tear me limb from limb, or decapitate me, or something else that is either extraordinarily painful or humiliating.

I pack up my own things and leave the library, taking a short cut by the football field on my way to the auditorium. Unfortunately for me, spending the afternoon with Brittany lulled my acute paranoia into a state of laziness and I missed the slowly forming gaggle of hulking teens tailing me. Well, that's not entirely true. I missed the first few. When the group grew in size I quickly became aware of it – especially when they shoved me behind the bleachers and formed a semi-circle of menacing, glaring boys.

My paranoia kicks up a few notches (it's actually not paranoia anymore. It's just full blown fear) and I drop my bag lightly to the ground behind me. You may previously have thought that, with my martial arts talent and cocky attitude et cetera, that I am fearless – that is an erroneous conclusion. I am most certainly _not_ fearless. I am simply very certain about things concerning my strengths and weaknesses. One of those weakness being the inability to emerge victorious from a fight weighed like this one: seventeen against one (I'm the one, by the way). Nevertheless, I shift my feet slightly into a more balanced position and smile disarmingly at them.

"Hi there. Can I help you?" One of them, I'm going to call him Goon One, steps forwards and sneers.

"You can get the fuck out of our school, dyke." I smile. I had intended to, perhaps, talk my way out of this, but I doubt that they will be open to anything that I have to say. So I let my mouth run wild – insults, offense digs, profound moments of intelligence. Go for it.

"And why would I want to do that darling?" I drawl. "Why, I'm having ever so much fun – corrupting people, performing satanic rituals, having my wicked way with your girlfriends…" A growl was the only warning I got. He lashes out and I dodge the fist easily. I punch him in the face and dance around him to kick him in the back of the knees, sending him tumbling to the ground. I'm tempted to call out 'timber' as he falls, but I don't think they would really understand and I do so hate it when my acerbic and brilliant wit goes unnoticed. I will admit that, while 'timber' isn't particularly witty, it is far beyond their level – and you must forgive me. I'm not at my most brilliant in moments of panic and blind fear.

I manage to incapacitate a few of them before they realise that, one-on-one, I'm going to beat them. So, with the thirteen remaining that aren't crying or unconscious, they come up with a half-decent plan. Goon One, now mostly recovered, punches me in the stomach and lets three of his buddies grab my wrists and shoulders to hold me in place. He stands arrogantly in front of me and sneers. I smile at him.

"This is for kicking me." He slams a fist into my stomach and I groan. Holy _fuck_ but that hurt. "And this is from Quinn." Oh my. I tense. Seems like my paranoia was correct, as per usual. He pulls his arm back and I close my eyes. Maybe if I don't see it coming, it won't hurt as much. No such luck. He punches me in the solar plexus and my lungs seize in shock. I attempt to talk to him as I try quite hard to suck in breath.

"What" gasp "happened to" gasp "not hitting girls?" He smirks at me and looks me up and down.

"You're not a girl." He slaps my face lightly and Goon One's friends laugh dutifully. Another boy, bleeding from the nose (I feel no small amount of pride at having caused that) asks for his turn and Goon One lets him. He pulls his arm back and slams a fist into my stomach, followed immediately by one of his knees. When I sag in the arms of whoever is holding me the boy loosens his grip and, after gritting my teeth, I wrench myself free and go (pardon the colloquialism) ape-shit on their arses. No way am I going to let them punch me without retribution.

It doesn't go too well. Sure, I knock a few more of them unconscious with some well-placed punches and that guy over there is crying, and that one looks like his wrist is either badly sprained or fractured, but I am on the ground and there are a few people kicking me – two in the stomach and one in the back.

"Hey! Get away from her!" A distant voice is heard and hasty hands pick me up and throw me into what I assume is the trash. After a few moments, strong hands pull me up and out of the bin and I cry out. "Oh Jesus, are you okay? Is everything alright? Are you bleeding?" Dave's hands flutter around my body but he doesn't actually touch me – something I am very grateful for.

"Can I do anything?" I shake my head once and growl wordlessly at him when his hands don't move away. I rest my left hand on his bicep and grip tight because he is sort of one of the only things holding me up at the moment. I close my eyes and take inventory. My right hand ghosts over my stomach and up my ribs, lightly pressing here and poking there. I open my eyes and grin ruefully at Dave who is staring at me with wide eyes.

"I'm all good Davey." I stagger a little when I try and move away from him and he frowns at me but holds my shoulders until I nod. Oh goodie. I seem to be a little woozy with pain.

"It seems that our friendship is based around violence." I laugh at that – how true, though – and wince at the painful protest of my ribs.

"Fuck," I hiss, and lean heavily against Dave. He stands very still and I take a moment to prepare myself because I am fully aware that whatever I do now will hurt. A lot. And what I intend to do is walk five paces to my right and pick up my bad. I glare at it, willing it to levitate towards me (and, don't tell anyone, I even mutter _Wingardium Leviosa_ under my breath) but, of course, it doesn't move. I take a shaking step towards me bag, testing my legs, and groan. Crappity crap crap. I think a couple of those kicks missed my stomach and got my thighs. Still, I make my way to my bad and snatch it up. I dig through it and pull out my phone.

**Group message to: Leroy Berry; Hiram Berry; Rachel Berry: Gone to Dave's place for the night. Text you in the morning.** I send it and flicker a glance Dave's way.

**To Rachel Berry: Can you get a ride home with Finn?**

"Okay if I stay at your place tonight?" Dave nods before I finish and I give him a warning glance. "Do I have to tell you that reading over my shoulder is rude?" He has the grace to look sheepish and I clap a hand on his shoulder. "Well then. Show me your place Dave."

He slowly escorts me to his car – which is actually more of a truck, and by 'more of a truck' I do mean that it _is_ a truck– and drives even more slowly over those ever-malicious potholes in the road. When we stop outside his house he switches off the ignition and fiddles with the keys.

"Is this the point when I lean over and kiss you?" I ask wryly. "You're acting like this is the end of our first date." He scowls and I add with a fierce grin, "and you're the girl, by the way." He rolls his eyes and opens his door. As he makes his way over to my door (we figured out quickly that my rapidly bruising fists wouldn't let me open or close doors) he shrugs off his letterman, which he gives to me.

"Put it on," he grunts. When I do, he pulls the hood up and rolls the sleeves down so they cover my hands. "Good thing you're tiny." I snort (and regret it when my ribs protest again).

"Good thing you're huge, actually. I'm the perfect size." I hold up an arm, which is dwarfed by the huge jacket. "What's this for?" He adjusts the hood again, which has slipped down, and frowns.

"In case my parents are home. It covers the bruises and I can always claim you're wearing it because you're my girlfriend." I raise a brow at him.

"And when did I claim that highly esteemed place?" He blushes and avoids eye contact.

"A couple of days ago. My dad asked why I had a broken nose and I told him that I was saving you from a douchebag and he broke my nose." I smirk and take note of the empty living room and kitchen, and the obvious lack of noise. Looks like Mummy and Daddy dearest aren't home.

"Let me guess – you were so brave and heroic and manly that I swooned immediately and agreed to go out with you because you're such a bonny lad." He laughs.

"Did you slip into an Irish accent?" I shrug.

"Oh shut up, ogre." After a moment I add, "and it was mah Scottish brogue." He nods, obviously bemused, and opens the door to his bedroom and I sit down with a grateful sigh on his bed, tugging off his letterman. "That was dwarfing. I don't know my girls would subject themselves to that."

Dave smiles. "Most of the time they fit better than that. You actually reminded me of Berry…Rachel in Hudson's jacket." I imagine her in his jacket and grin.

"Oh god, why is she with him?" Dave shrugs and sits himself in his desk chair, rolling over to the door and locking it. "He's a giant and she's so tiny." I inch backwards, farther onto the bed, until I can lie down. "This is so comfy." I wriggle on the bed and Dave pokes my foot.

"Don't go to sleep. You might have a concussion." I open an eye to peek at him.

"And what would you suggest if I did?"

"You'll need to stay awake for a while. I've got a torch here and I'm going to test the reaction of your pupils to it. If it's okay then I'll let you sleep tonight but I'm still going to wake you every hour. If they don't react properly then I'm taking you to the hospital." I raise my brows, impressed, and he blushes again. "I want to be a doctor." I nod slowly. I can see that. "Okay, shirt up. I have to see that your ribs aren't broken or fractured." I blanch and sit up, holding my shirt to me.

"That isn't necessary." He cocks his head to the side.

"Jo, I'm _gay_," he whispers. "I'm not going to like, molest you are anything." I give him a tiny grin. "Now lift up your shirt." I bat his hands away.

"It really isn't necessary Dave. I'm trained in martial arts and I've been in fights before. I _know_ when my ribs are broken." He looks doubtful and I glare at him. "I'm fine Dave!" He holds his hands up and away and tightens his lips.

"Fine. But I'm still waking you up every hour or two tonight." I nod in consent. I can live with that. Besides, I probably wouldn't sleep well anyway. Suddenly he seems very nervous and I watch the transition, amused.

"Um. I guess you can, um, have the bed and I'll sleep on the floor." He is rubbing his hands on his jeans and I guess that they are clammy.

"Are you alright?" He smiles weakly. "Are you…nervous?"

"Aren't you? I mean, you beat me up and then we became friends and now three days later you've been punched like a billion times and now you're in my room. Plus, I've never had anyone in my room before." I take a moment to look around. There is a box of comics in the corner – Superman, I think – and model airplanes hanging from the roof but other than that it looks like a pretty ordinary room. There is a desk and the bed, obviously, and carpet. The closet is nice.

"Nice closet. Hide in there often?" I smirk at him and he rolls his eyes.

"I hate you." I shrug.

"Don't be nervous. You're my first friend too."

"Nah. You have Rachel and Puck and Brittany and Santana." I'm shaking my head.

"I tutor Brittany and Santana kind of comes with her as a package deal. Puck I tutor as well and Rachel, well, Rachel is special. You're the first friend I've made by myself here." He nods slowly. "So chill. We are equally nervous. Can't we just forget that I've been punched and that I punched you and just do something fun?"

"Um…no. My mum grounded me." I raise a brow. "What? She thinks I beat someone up and she's proud that I saved a girl but I still punched someone." I pout. "You can help me with my English though." I roll my eyes.

"I don't think so. You can do your own English and I'm going to get some sleep." He shrugs and spins around on his chair, fiddling with his phone. It beeps and he holds it up.

"I've set it for two hours and then I'm going to wake you up." I nod and wave my hand tiredly.

"Yeah, yeah." Technically I was two, maybe three years older than this kid so I should be annoyed at his mother hen tendencies but, well, it's been a while since I've been mothered and I've always liked people fussing over me. I guess that's why I _really_ like Leroy – he's always clucking over something or other.

The two hours passed with what I thought was the barest blink of the eye and then someone was frantically shaking my shoulder.

"Jo? Jo!" I blearily open my eyes and, well, freaked out. I normally wake up the moment I hear the door opening, or a footstep, or something like that. It is rare that anyone ever sneaks up on me. So, you would freak out too if a colossal man was standing over you and glowering and you weren't used to people being anywhere near you while you sleep. Okay, well, he wasn't glowering at _me_ as much as he was just frightened that I was bleeding into my brain or whatever. No matter. I brought my feet up and pushed him away, ignoring the pain in my abdomen. I flipped myself up into a crouch and glared at him through the haze in my head. After a few moments I realised that _he_ was actually Dave and he was sitting on the ground staring at me, and I was pressed up against the wall, with one hand wrapped around my stomach.

"Well, I guess you're alive." He rubbed his elbow gently. I suppose he must have hit it against…something. I don't know. "I'm going to be punched every time I try to wake you up tonight, aren't I?" I stare at him for a few minutes but finally nod my head once. He chuckles. "Great. I had to pick the one friend that will abuse me." I flinched minutely and he picks himself up from the floor. "I'm going to grab some dinner. You can get changed into some of my clothes – I got Mum to find some of my clothes from when I was like, ten years old, so they might fit you."

He closes the door behind him and I snatch up the promised sweats from the chair and hobble into the bathroom. I attempt to get this over and done with quickly and whip the shirt over my head but, well, it _hurts_ so instead I find myself gingerly lifting and slipping my shirt over my head. When I drop my jeans to the floor, I take a few seconds to examine myself – the blackening bruises aren't a pretty sight. I hurry to dress (again, read: cautiously slip the garments on) and, when I see my reflection staring bleakly back at me, I poke my tongue out and force a smile. It could be worse. They could have punched me in the face and then I'd have to explain that away to Leroy and Hiram. And Rachel. Oh god, Rachel is going to kill me if she finds out I was in another fight. Lucky for me, my exceptional taste in clothing leans towards the covering up of skin and, by extension, of bruises.

"Jo? Are you alright?" Dave's worried voice comes from right outside the bathroom door and I practice a wry grin in the mirror a few times before opening the door and directing it at him.

"I'm a big girl Davey, I can dress myself." He smiles back but he's probably very anxious (or would just make an absolutely awful spy) because it is tinged with worry.

"Of course you can dress yourself. You just take twenty minutes to do it." I hide my shock – twenty minutes? – and roll my eyes.

"I'm going to say this once Davey – I am a _girl_. Girls always take forever to dress." And just like that the worried crease in his forehead disappears and he grins back at me.

"Oh, okay. I'm glad I'm gay them. I don't think I can deal with the stress if my partner takes a year to get dressed." I chuckle lowly and pat him on the shoulder (which is a considerable feat seeing as he is almost as tall as Gigantor – Finn).

"You do know that some gays like their appearance just as much as girls do, right?" I laugh at his horrified expression and head back into his room to relax. A short nap can't hurt…

**Okay, as per usual, I would love to hear your thoughts so click on the review button please and type away! Long, short, critical, awed, whether you think it's marvellous or awful, go ahead and send it! Much love blah blah blah, I'm going back to writing now so I can get another one to you next week. Happy reading, readers :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Thirteen**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. Having fun though…**

**Hi again everyone! I hope you like this newest chapter. Also, just letting you know that I'm trying to write a lot faster and get everything down because later I won't have as much time to do this as I'm working. I won't forget you though! Anyway, read, review, the usual. **

**Please enjoy.**

"Are you planning on hiding with me all day?" I don't bother answering Dave. It's a stupid question and the answer is obvious – of course I am. Plus, I'm far too busy to answer, as I am on the lookout for loud midgets and/or blonde bombshells (bombshells is plural because 1) is Brittany, who tends to throw herself in enthusiastic hugs at her friends and I'm afraid that if she did that to me today I would crack in two and 2) is Quinn because she is evil).

"Alright then. Does this mean I can't go to the bathroom?" He moves to leave and I hit him – lightly enough to make him grin at me because he knows that it's a warning and hard enough for him to know that I can and will incapacitate him if he tries to leave me.

"There! Did you see the violence inherit in the system? She's oppressin' me, she is!" I mock glare at Dave but, to tell the truth, I'm impressed that a self-proclaimed jock can quote from the brilliance that is Monty Python. We stand at his locker quietly for a few moments. Then he clears his throat.

"So…if, say, Puck were to be heading this way, how exactly am I supposed to help you?" I look at him and bat my eyelashes.

"Oh Davey, you're such a handsome, smart lad. What do you think?" I purr and stroke his cheek. He just smirks and shakes his head.

"You want me to use my feminine wiles on Puck? Distract him for you?" He flutters his lashes back at me and I grin. Then I see that he wasn't kidding. There really was a fast-approaching Puckerman. Oh crap. Crap crap crapping crapster. Why am I swearing if Puckerman is my friend and he just happens to be heading this way? Well, that's obvious. The story goes like this:

I may have forgotten to text Rachel this morning and that, combined with the fact that I skipped classes with Brittany and skipped the tutoring session with Puck because I am in considerable pain and _both_ of them seem to feel the need to greet me in rather excitable fashions (hugging or slapping me on the back), means that my little sister is on a rampage through the school to find me. Dave is scared. I am scared. We are both hiding. I am hiding behind Dave. In hindsight (what a useful tool, hindsight), it probably wasn't fair of me to push Rachel's trust of a very recently ex-nemesis as far as it absolutely could go but, to be honest, I hadn't though much farther than 'fuck, this really hurts' this morning. Anyway, the rampage explains why Puckerman is now striding towards us. Dave turns to me anxiously.

"Help!"

I take a step towards Puck and he grabs me by the shoulders, places me behind him, turns to Dave and, grabbing him by the collar of his letterman, shoves him against the locker.

"What did you do to her?" He growls. "Jo _never_ skips class with Brittany without telling her." Dave gives me a wide-eyed look and holds his hands up in surrender. Puckerman shoves him harder into the locker and I lay a warning hand on Noah's wrist.

"Let him go Puckerman." (I would never let him know that I think of him as Noah now. He would hate that but I think that once he convinced me that he's practically family to Rachel that it was necessary for me to think of him as Noah Puckerman-Berry.) Noah shoves him once more into the locker before pulling his hands away. He turns his glare on me.

"And you! If you're fine then why didn't you tell Rach that? She's gone insane! Brittany is crying and Santana is out for your blood and instead of pulling her own hair out like a normal person, Rachel started pulling on _my _hair and now my mohawk is all messed up." He wails and tugs on his hair before glaring at me again. "You messed up big time!" My heart sinks. He's right. I should have thought of Rachel and I shouldn't have skipped class.

"Hey! That's not fair." Dave's forehead is furrowed and he glares at Noah. "So she forgot to text Ber – Rachel. So what? She _forgot_." I am pleaded with God, Jesus, Buddha, or Zeus, that he doesn't tell Puckerman – and by extension, Rachel – that I was in a fight. "And Brittany isn't stupid, she should know by now that Jo isn't going to stop tutoring her. Everyone at this school knows that Jo dotes on her."

"Nice word," I murmur and Dave rolls his eyes. I told him to use it in his English homework last night. I'm pretty happy with 'dote'. More importantly than that, however, is the gasp that we hear from our left. Our little group, Noah, Dave and I, turn. Dave flushes from the neck up when he sees that a still-teary Brittany is beaming at him.

"Sanny! Karofsky said that I'm not stupid!" Santana 'mhmm's and glares at Dave. Brittany skips forward to hug him but Santana pulls her back and away from him, and Dave just sticks his hands in his pockets and mutters something that only I can hear. I grin up at him and turn to Brittany.

"Britt, his given name is Dave. Maybe you should call him that instead of Karofsky." Brittany looks at Dave, who nods, and back at me before beaming even wider.

"Okay Dave! Jo, will you come to class this afternoon? We have Home Ec and I want to make a cake with you." She turns her puppy dog eyes (a weapon of devastating effect) on me and I am nodding before I realise that I'm nodding. She squeals and launches herself at me. Santana, unfortunately, isn't quick enough to haul her away and she is hugging me tightly. I force a smile on my face and pat her on the back gently even though everything in me is screaming at her to _get the fuck off of me_. She doesn't notice the strain, thankfully, because I would hate to make her upset, and just skips off with Santana in tow, waving at us happily.

I press a hand to my abdomen and wheeze. Dave is suddenly right next to me with that silly worried expression furrowing his brow. "Are you okay?" I nod but lean into the hand on my shoulder somewhat. Puckerman frowns and pulls Dave's hand off my shoulder.

"What happened? What did he do to you?" He sends another suspicious glare Dave's way and Dave frowns.

"That's enough Puckerman. Dave has done nothing wrong so just lay off." Noah has the decency to shrug and mutter a 'sorry' to Dave, who shrugs as well. God save us all from hot-headed boys.

"Jo! I found you!" I feel my face blanch and tense my muscles. Oh boy. This is going to hurt. And sure enough, pain jolts through my body when I feel Rachel's body colliding with mine in a fierce hug. "Are you okay? Is everything alright?" She pauses and I can feel her ferocious glare. "Karofsky, I demand that you take at least three steps backwards immediately."

Maybe it is the fact that I am in pain, maybe it is the fact that he is my first real friend and confidant, but I am really angry and sick and tired of people accusing Dave of hurting me.

"That is enough. Dave has done nothing wrong so leave him alone!" Rachel looks hurt for a moment before glaring at me.

"Well how would I know? You say that you'll text Dad and Daddy in the morning and promise that you'll text _me_ after you spend the night with the same boy that has bullied me for my whole school life and then you _don't_ text me and you don't show up to any of your classes or your session with Noah so tell me, what am I supposed to think? It is a perfectly logical conclusion that you were hurt so don't yell at me!" She crosses her arms and deepens her glare and I want to retaliate but, unfortunately, she is correct. I give her a reluctant nod.

"I know and I'm sorry but Dave really didn't hurt me." Technically, she had insinuated that I was just hurt, not that he had hurt me but, given that the insinuation was that he had hurt me, I thought that was truthful and reassuring enough. I take a step closer to her and lower my voice. "Look, can we take this somewhere else? Please?" I can feel a good few dozen pairs of eyes on us – there's nothing like a good hallway drama in a school full of hormonal teens – and it's making me extremely twitchy. Rachel relents somewhat and leads us to a small room opposite the auditorium.

"Better?" I nod and she directs a mistrustful look in Dave's direction. He bows his head and refused to look at anyone but takes a step closer to me – for reassurance, I suppose. "So. You suddenly decide to spend the night at _Dave's_ and make me catch a ride home with Finn," I wonder at the phrasing of that. Made her catch a ride home? I though she would have jumped at the chance to spend time with her boyfriend. "And you promise to text me but I didn't get a single peep out of you and I was worried sick Jo!" Noah sends me a 'see what I had to deal with this morning?' look and crosses his arms over his chest. I take a moment to sort everything out in my mind because, forgive me if I'm wrong, but this is extraordinarily strange.

I am twenty years old but my little sister and her best friend are the ones scolding me? I honestly don't know what to do in this situation. I've never had to explain myself before. I've never had to apologise for something like this – I suppose it is somewhat like being out after curfew but I never had a curfew and I never really went out anyway so this is an entirely new experience for me.

"I'm sorry? I will make sure to text you next time so you don't worry about me." I hope that my tone is the appropriate mixture of humble and sincere. I don't want her to think I'm mocking her. I'm not. I really will text her and I really am sorry that she worried about me. I just, well, I didn't think that she would. Shelby never did. "That being said, I really think that you should apologise to Dave." And there it is. Rachel's most stubborn expression, forming on her face.

"Absolutely not." She tightens her arms across her chest and stamps her foot. She avoids eye contact with Dave. "He is a bully and a terror and I am perfectly well within my rights to accuse him of something that he could very well have done. He could have _hurt_ you Jo!" That's it. Time for me to scold her.

"Rachel Barbara Berry! What would your fathers think? They would be ashamed of you. They have raised you better than that. Yes, he has hurt you before and you have every right to be upset, but he is trying to make a change and be a better person and I know that you believe in second chances so why doesn't Dave deserve one? He has the most to prove, doesn't he? And if you can't give him that second chance, at least respect the fact that I see he is a good person and you have to live with the fact that we are friends!"

I cross my arms and glare right back at her but, unfortunately, I didn't think ahead. My shirtsleeves pull up slightly at the movement and, when I wince at the slightly pressure on my bruised ribs, Rachel's eyes flicker down to my arms. She catches the barest glimpse of a bruise and freezes before taking very careful and measured steps towards me. I take the same steps backwards, uncrossing my arms, but she grabs my left hand and shoves the sleeve up, showing the black and blue handprint around my wrist.

"What is this then?" She is stricken, her face drawn and pale, and my mind is running a hundred miles-per-hour to come up with something to say, _anything_, that won't tell them the truth but will clear Dave's name. Too late. Puckerman roars and swings a fist at Dave, who swears, ducks, and tackles Puckerman into the wall.

"Oh for Christ's sake." I wade into the middle of them and Dave stops immediately. Puckerman is a little more hot-headed and gets a few more swings in – one of which clips Dave on the shoulder and the other I block. I grab his collar and drag him over to a chair and shove him into it. "Sit." He tries to stand so I glare harshly and shove him down again. "_Sit_." I refuse to break eye contact and finally he relents and relaxes into the seat. Well, not _relaxes_, but he sits there and doesn't move. Rachel sits next to Noah and I move backwards slowly to stand next to Dave.

Puckerman's voice is low and angry, when he speaks. "I knew you were a douche Karofsky, but I didn't think you'd hurt a girl like that. I guess you are a homophobe who likes to force girls, huh?" He growls, fists clenched. My mind makes the jump that Noah's obviously has, and I flinch.

"Noah," Although strained, I make sure that my voice is certain. "He did _not_ do that to me. Dave would never do that to anyone." Dave has obviously figured out what Noah meant as well because his face takes on a greenish tinge and glares at Puckerman.

"I would never." Puckerman sneers.

"Why not? You're a homophobic arsehole, picking on Kurt all the time. Why wouldn't you hurt Jo too?" Apparently that is all the control Puckerman has because he launches himself at Dave, fists swinging again. I can't control my eyes rolling and I pull Puckerman off again, pulling his arm around his back but he is still struggling and his other arm is lashing out at Dave. I'm getting tired of this. Really, Puckerman has to come up with a different way of dealing with things than physical violence.

"Why should we believe you, huh?" He yells and Dave blocks one punch and yells back at Puckerman.

"I'm gay! That's why I won't do that to Jo!" Noah stops struggling, utterly shocked, and Dave pales, turns around, and throws up in the trashcan. "Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit." He moans and I crouch (ignoring the pain, because not everything is about me. Especially not this) next to him.

"Dave." I lay a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. "Dave, you're okay. They aren't going to tell anyone. Relax Dave." He turns fearful eyes on the pair watching, and they are gaping uncomprehending. Rachel's eyes widen.

"That's the secret? That is why you believed that he was nice?" I nod and Dave nods, miserably, and slumps against the wall.

"It wasn't me, okay? I wasn't the one that beat up Jo, and I definitely didn't _force_ her to do anything or, or _anything _like that. We just talked and slept, I swear." Noah nods, still shocked, but Rachel's eyes narrow. I growl at Dave.

"Great. Thanks Dave. Thanks a lot. You know, it's a miracle that you never told anyone else that you're gay because you _suck_ at keeping secrets." I am glaring fiercely at him but then, when I see his pale face and shaking hands, I instantly relent. "Hey, no, it's okay. I'm sorry. It's okay, I swear." He gives me a weak smile and I pat him on the head.

"Someone _beat you up?_" Rachel shrieks and I wince at the volume. Singing really has done wonders for her breath support. "Was that why you spent the night at Dave's?" I smile at her conversion (obviously she know believes me that Dave is nice, just a little messed up like everyone else) and I nod.

"He, well. I guess he kind of saved me." I smile at him and he shrugs and mutters a vehement 'violent bloody dickheads'. "They dumped me in the trash and he punched a couple of people in the face and then he took me back to his place and made sure I didn't have a concussion and I met his parents and it was fun."

"They dumped you in the trash." I nod. "It happened…here? At school." I nod again, slower this time. "Who was it?" Rachel's voice is deadly. I shake my head and shrug, unconcerned.

"I don't know. Boy that I don't tutor. Basketball players or some first string footballers. I don't know." She sits heavily and stares at me.

"How many?" I turn, unsure, to Dave. I know that it was seventeen people but I'm also very aware that Rachel would probably faint if I told her that. Hopefully he only saw two or three people. He frowns and shrugs.

"I don't know. Twelve? Maybe fifteen. A whole bunch of them." Damn. No such luck. Rachel gapes at me and I shift nervously. Was she angry? Sad? Disappointed?

"I'm sorry?" I attempt and she shakes her head slowly. Puckerman glares into the distance and leans forward in his seat so his elbows are resting on his knees. His glare turns thoughtful.

"You think you can remember what they look like?" Dave nods. "You wanna do something about it?" I frown.

"Oh no you don't. Don't you dare. There are a lot more of them than just you two and some of them are bigger than you. You'll get beaten up and there is no point. They were just following orders, the stupid lugs." Fuck. I hadn't meant to say that. Rachel's eyes narrow as she stares at me. She recognises the widening of my eyes and the slight shifting of my body well enough to know that I said something I hadn't wanted to.

"Whose orders?' She demands. I clamp my mouth shut. "Jo, tell me. _Whose orders?_" I just stare at her. She doesn't want to hear this. She growls at me before standing to pace the room. She finally stops in front of me. "You are utterly infuriating. Here I am, trying to _help_ you and you fight me every step of the way. You have no qualms with Santana punching you in the face, or taking a slushie for me, or helping everyone with their homework and assignments but the second that it comes to someone helping _you_, you shut them down." She throws her hands up into the air, accompanied by a strangled cry, when I still don't tell her. "Let me help you Jo!" She turns to Dave. "Whose orders, Dave?" I was confident that he wouldn't be able to answer. I hadn't told him what the boy had said after all, but I hear him say loud and clear:

"Quinn. It was Quinn." I gape at him. How on earth…"That's how I knew that you were in trouble. We got a group text saying that Quinn wanted us to get you out of her school. It didn't really say that we were supposed to, you know, beat you up, which is why I took so long to get there because I didn't think that anyone would hurt you." Rachel is fuming but surprisingly it is Puckerman that stalks out of the room and down the hallway. (Maybe not surprising. He is very protective and extremely volatile.) Rachel and I exchange a worried look and sprint after him.

We follow him and we are entering the cafeteria at the same moment that he is striding up to Quinn with a murderous look in his eyes. Brittany and Santana are sitting on either side of her and they see him first. Brittany says hello but he completely ignores her.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Surprise flickers over everyone's faces. Sure, Puckerman was a badass, but he was a fun-loving, laid-back kind of badass with a heart of gold. He very rarely yelled at anyone and when he did, it was generally on the football field, and he never physically hurt anyone, except, again, on the football field (and those were accidents). Even when he used to throw people into the trash he was sort of chivalrous about it – or so I've heard. So now, standing in front of the self-proclaimed and publically supported Head Bitch in Charge, he was yelling at her, fuming, and it was a shock to say the least. Quinn stands slowly, followed by Santana, and faces Puckerman.

"What are you talking about?" Her voice is utterly calm.

"I'm _talking_ about whatever made you into such a twisted _bitch_." Santana takes a step forward and opens her mouth. "No Santana. Don't say anything because you don't know what you're talking about. Quinn is a fucking idiot and she could have ruined everything." Quinn looks offended and he growls, grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her hard. "Don't you get it?" He yells. "You can _hurt_ people. You can ruin peoples lives and you don't even _care_!" Part of me wants him to continue but I know that this has gone on for long enough and if he keeps holding her like that then he could seriously hurt her.

"Puckerman, put her down." He lets her down and turns to me, shocked. I see Quinn steady herself surreptitiously on Santana.

"But she…you?" I give him a small smile.

"I know. And thank you. But I can't let you do that to a fellow student and, as your teacher, if you touch her again in a violent manner or a way she does not consent to, I _will_ give you a detention." He gapes at me and at my entirely serious tone. "Go and cool off Puckerman." He turns back to Quinn, glaring, and obviously intent on ignoring me, so I slide in between them and push lightly on his chest. "Go!" He stares at me for a long moment before snarling and jerking around, leaving the cafeteria. I turn to Rachel. "Follow him? Make sure he's okay." She nods and, after sparing an angry glance at Quinn, turns on her heel and follows him.

I turn around and look at Quinn, who meets my eyes angrily. Impressive. She's even more of a sadistic bitch than I had thought originally if she thinks that this is entirely my fault. To be able to launch an attack on me and then be able to look at me without seeming the slightest bit guilty…that is certainly impressive.

"Guys, what's going on?" I turn to Santana reluctantly. I don't want to look into her eyes and see that she knows I was attacked. I make eye contact and relax. She didn't know. She is genuinely confused. I am relieved, but not surprised – she may be a bitch but I didn't think she was capable of that. And, of course, Brittany would never have let her.

"Jo? What's going on?" I ignore Santana again and turn to Brittany though I don't have to look at her to know that she had nothing to do with this. She doesn't have the capacity to be cruel. And she's staring at me with big, worried, blue eyes. No. It's just Quinn, then.

"Oh for fuck's sake Jo, what the hell is going on? What's with Puck?" I don't have the opportunity to say anything, to answer Santana because the moment I meet Quinn's eyes again she snatches a slushie from a passing freshman (freshman – the silly little creatures are never aware of moments of tension) and throws it at me, her lip curled in a sneer. It feels like she's bitchslapped me with an iceberg and I close my eyes. None of it got me in the eyes, thankfully, but I feel rage rising and curling in my stomach and I take a deep breath.

_Control yourself Jo. _Except for the voice of reason, everything in my body is screaming at me to punch the little fucker in the face but I don't for a few reasons. 1 – that voice of reason has saved me on more than one occasion so I generally listen to it far more than I do to my impulsive side. 2 – I _am_ a pseudo-teacher and I would be immediately fired if I punched a student in the face and 3 – Rachel seems to trust and like the bitch for some unimaginable reason and my respect for my little sister (as well as knowing the distraught face she would make if she found out that I punched her friend in the face) makes me hold back.

Instead, I take another deep breath and grit a smile out at Quinn, who is just staring at me – some undefined emotion swirling in those otherwise calm eyes – and I turn on my heel and execute a perfect departure – seeming both dramatic and giving me a sense of superiority. Rachel would be impressed.

I make my way to a locker room and lock the door behind me. I pull my shirt off, ignoring the protestations from my ribs and muscles, and start wiping the slushie off of me. I don't hear the click of the lock opening but I certainly wish I had.

**Muhahahaha. All my cliff-hangers (is this a cliff-hanger?) happen in the bathroom. I'm cool like that. Anywho, as per usual, review please. I hope you enjoyed it – let me know – and that you'll keep reading. Happy reading, readers :) **


	14. Chapter 14

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Fourteen**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. **

**Okay guys – massive chapter this one. Not in size but in importance, so I hope that you like it and you like what I've done with it. Please enjoy. **

QUINN POV

_What the fuck?_ It was the only thing I could think at the moment. _What the actual fuck?_ It had been a relatively normal day up until now. You know, waking up, torturing some baby Cheerios, classes – and then Puck comes up and tries to kill me, Corcoran makes him stop, and then she stares freakily at me and I have no fucking clue why any of this is happening. I'm getting claustrophobic from her intensity and proximity so, instead of asking her to take a step back, I give into my _stupid_ impulsive side and grab a slushie from a passing freshman, and throw it into her face.

She pins me with a stare and how, exactly, could I not remember how her eyes – the same deep brown as Rachel's, I note distractedly – somehow had the ability to become so very, very cold. I imagine that I can see a tangible struggle within her in the slow tapping of her hand on her leg, the grit of her teeth, and the way her eyebrows have snapped down above angry eyes, and I lean away from her very slightly.

When she turns on her heel and storms out, highly reminiscent of Rachel Berry, Santana turns and punches me hard in the shoulder.

"What the fuck, Quinn?" I don't need her to say it. I know. I'm stupid. Santana punches me again and I glower at her.

"_Enough_ Santana. Thank you!" She sighs and shakes her head.

"Damn it Q, I love you but you are seriously fucked up in the head. I don't know what the Fabray's did to you," I make myself not flinch, "but you are seriously fucked up. I don't know what Puck's issue was but he was totally insane and Jo saves you and you fucking slushie her!" A passing 'language, Miss Lopez' from one of the teachers makes Santana pause, but then she turns back to me. "What the actual fuck, Quinn?"

I shrug helplessly. "I don't know!" I hiss. One part of me thinks that the bitch deserved it. I'm almost entirely certain that she is doing something to Rachel and to Glee and that I just need time to figure out what and then I can tell everyone and everything will go back to normal. On the other hand, another part of me knows that I've done something very wrong. Santana rolls her eyes and goes to follow Corcoran – to the bathroom, I presume. After a moment, I roll my eyes and sprint after her. When I catch up she gives me a precise look that only Santana can deliver. It is a cross between 'it's a good thing you came and I didn't have to go back and drag you because you know I would have and it would have been painful' and 'toughen the fuck up bitch, let's do this'. It reassures me in a strange way. I only hope that with Santana there I will be able to apologise and, if not, that she will abuse me either verbally or physically until I force an apology out.

I don't know precisely why I did follow Santana, actually. I don't know what I expected to find in the bathroom, or wherever the woman had run to. A small, dark part of me hoped that Santana and I would find her broken and crying. A larger part of me, but not by much, hoped that she would already be gone – one less confrontation I needed to have. Most of me just expected her to be cleaning herself off. So when I saw that the slushie trail lead to a locked Cheerio changing room, I didn't bother to suppress a smile. I sincerely doubt that Corcoran knew it was the Cheerio's room; if she had, she certainly wouldn't have gone in. Why? Because I have the key.

I hand the key to Santana and she unlocks it, only to stop two paces into the room. I look over her shoulder – ready with quips such as 'I'll tell Britt you are looking at other girls' , or 'careful Lopez, your gay is showing' – but I didn't expect my darkest hope to be realised.

Corcoran has taken her shirt of and, despite the fact that she's standing there in a bra and her pants, that isn't want has shocked us. Believe me – San has seen girls with a lot less on and, well, we are cheerleaders. It's not exactly possible to go without seeing a little bit of skin. No, it isn't that. It is the assortment of scars that covers Corcoran's back, from her shoulders to her hips and, I think, further down, that makes us stop dead in the doorway. The door closes with a click and Corcoran jerks her head up at the sound, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. Her face pales when she sees us and she seems to be frozen for a moment before she snatches her shift from the sink and frantically tries to tug it over her head, wincing.

Santana is by her side in a split second and rips the shirt out of Corcoran's hands. She tries to hold the woman still – we can both see that she is hurting herself – but Jo is bucking and twisting and shoving at my friend. She bucks again but Santana takes a different tact and slowly wraps gentle hands around Corcoran's wrists and leans in.

"I thought you didn't hit girls, Jo." She murmurs and the woman stills, shoulders tense. I wait with baited breath, absolutely certain that Jo will hit her. I recall what she said to me. _I will not hesitate to defend myself. I don't like hitting girls but if they hit me I might just hit back_. But, instead of lashing out at Santana like I expect her to, all the fight seems to drain out of her and she leans limply against the lockers.

Santana presses against her for a second longer, just to make sure that she isn't going to run, and then lets her go. She turns her head to me and nods at the door. I take a step back, turn, and lock it with a flick of my wrist. The noise is loud in the suddenly silent room and we both turn back to look at Jo. She tenses, sensing our scrutiny despite being turned away from us, and we watch the tightening of her muscles and the way the scars – some silver, some an angry red and brown – shift over her skin.

"Jo…"Santana whispers and traces a finger down one long, silver scar. Jo jerks away and wraps her arms around her body. It is then that I notice the ugly bruising around her wrists and shoulders. I nudge Santana, who looks appalled before realising that _no, that hadn't been her_. She takes Jo gently by the shoulder and makes her turn. I muffle a second gasp. The bruises are spread over her entire stomach and are edging up over her ribs where, I can't help but notice, are more scars.

"I…I don't…" Santana is speechless. She is a girl of action rather than words mostly and, I suppose she notices the dripping of the slushie and water from Jo's shirt, which is still in her hand, because she drops it to the ground. "I'm going to get you a new shirt," she murmurs and Jo just nods, but refuses to look at us. Santana moves to the far end of the locker room, where Brittany's locker is, and delves through it for a shift Jo can wear.

I can't speak. I'm just staring at the intricate maze of scars. There doesn't seem to be a single inch of her that doesn't have a scar. My stomach falls when I think of what she must have endured. _And I hit her…_The sheer number of scars, and what I think might be burns, not to mention the bruises, horrifies me and I move to the towel dispenser to grab a handful of paper towels, ignoring the heaving of my stomach. I move to wipe her down but she takes a half step back and her hand flashes up to catch mine lightning fast, and holds me still.

I'm afraid to look into her eyes but she is motionless. I know she won't move until I meet her eyes. So I do. She doesn't look angry. In fact, her eyes are a light brown but I don't know what the colour means.

"What do you want?" she whispers. I shake my head. I don't know. Her grip tightens but I don't wince. It doesn't hurt, not really. It's just uncomfortable. Still, I think she notices because she releases me hurriedly and drops her hand. I take the opportunity to wipe at the slushie methodically, off of her chest and neck, and I don't look into her eyes again.

Finally, I am done. It took three trips to the dispenser and she is still a little purple, but it's the best I can do. _I'm not Rachel Berry, _I think, ashamed. _She would have done a better job thanks to all the practice she's had._ Santana hasn't returned, even though it shouldn't have taken her this long to get a shirt from the locker. When I look over, I know she is taking the time to calm herself. I can see it in her shaking shoulders and clenched fists. I look back at Corcoran.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. And that, evidently, was entirely the wrong thing to say. She tenses and takes a large pace backwards, away from me. Her mouth twists and her eyes flash dark. _That_ look I recognise. Fury.

"You're sorry?" She barks a laugh. "Why? What for?" My mouth flaps uselessly but she is waiting impatiently and I force out an answer I hope will placate her. It doesn't.

"For slushying you." She growls.

"You're sorry for slushying me." She laughs and I really hate the sound. It is sad and angry and bitter and it gives me tingles in my hands and up my spine. "You're _sorry_." Her shoulders tremble with the effort of repressing the laughter, now on the verge of hysterical, and she shakes her head. "You don't get to apologise to me Quinn Fabray," she hisses.

I can hear Santana's footsteps –_finally_ – but they pause and it is as if she has stopped right outside the bubble of Jo and me. Jo takes a step closer and bends down slightly to look right in my eyes. "You fucking _hit _me , you told them to hit me, so you don't get to apologise just because you think I am _broken_," she hisses. "What about all the other people that you've hurt, all those people that go home and cry because the wonderful and popular Quinn Fabray," she says my name with all the disdain she can muster, "insults them? Slushies them? Has made them into a social pariah and makes them feel less than special, less than _human_." She pulls herself away from me with an obvious effort and stares flatly at me.

"What about them, Quinn?" She asks softly. Her voice cracks. "You can't see their scars. You can't see that every day some of them wake up and it takes them an age to roll out of bed because they _know_ that today won't be better than yesterday, despite what everyone tells them. Today is just another day of pain and suffering and humiliation." She lets each word drop heavily and I can't help but flinch at every one of them. They're directed at me. Have I done that?

Jo shakes her head. "I won't let you apologise to me just because you know that it is the right thing to do Quinn." She reaches over and plucks the shirt – long-sleeved – from Santana with a nod of thanks. We both wince again at her slow movements and the obvious pain she is in. When Jo speaks again it is much softer, even an attempt at gentle, but it hasn't lost its terrible edge.

"An apology is worth _nothing_ unless it is sincere. You can't apologise to Rachel," _how does everyone know that I want to apologise to Rachel?_ "and think that she will forgive you, because I guarantee you that if I can see you are saying thing because it is expected and because you think you have to, then Rachel will be able to see it as well. If you want to apologise and be _forgiven_," that word! It almost makes me buckle because, and I didn't really know it until now, I really do want to be forgiven. So badly. "So you do want to be forgiven." I raise my eyes to hers and she nods. "Then I suggest that you start opening yourself up to people and really feel remorse for your actions. You'll need it to be sincere in your apologies." She takes a deep breath. "Rachel is wonderfully forgiving but it is going to take a lot more than 'I'm sorry, be my friend' to win her over." Her eyes flicker to Santana who is gaping at her. She is surprised. I've heard Santana talk about Jo – always about how she is with Brittany, kind and patient – but I know that this is the first time that the woman has really acted like she is older than us, wiser, more mature and experienced. I don't want to know what those experiences are. Not with scars like that.

"As for you Santana," she pauses. "I genuinely like you for the way you are with Brittany. I know that is the real you, and I know that you are snarky and delightfully witty and there is nothing wrong with any of that. You are kind and thoughtful and patient with Brittany," exactly the qualities that Santana likes in her, "and I know that Brittany brings out the best in people but you are terrified and you are hurting her." Santana's eyes widen and I look away. I know what she's talking about – Santana frequently has bouts of gay panic and Brittany always comes to me crying. I marvel at this woman. I don't know who the fuck she is but she has us pegged. I didn't want her to know that though.

"And what about you?" I ask. At some point I've regained the use of my voice and, rather than apologise again because I know that she will rebuff it, I question her. Santana shoves me but I shove her back. "No, San. I want to know. You don't know us. You have no right to tell us that we can't _feel_ or that we're bad people or whatever – you sure as hell aren't perfect either."

Before my eyes she undergoes a transformation. From fretful, scarred, and tired, she straightens and stands tall and with enough presence to make me feel like she is towering over me. She smirks, completely in control and this is the self-assured Jo Corcoran that I see striding through McKinley halls during the day. This is the Jo Corcoran that doesn't let anything touch her and, while I am relieved that I no longer have to look at the wounded woman, I can't help but feel that this is just that emotionless mask with an added layer of good humour. It makes me uncomfortable.

"I'm not perfect, but I'm sure as hell a lot closer to it than you are." She smirks a little to take most of the sting out of that. But not all of it. "At least I'm not entirely emotionally stunted and I'm aware of my weaknesses. Little Miss Quinn Fabray," she mocks. "You are so sure that you are perfect, Queen Bee here at McKinley, that you won't acknowledge your fears. And Lopez, you are set on pushing other people away because you are terrified that you won't ever be able to love someone." She narrows her eyes at me. "I'm not perfect, and I know that I'm a bitch. There's stuff about me that sucks but at least I can acknowledge when people are better than me. Like _Rachel_, for instance. And I can tell you that the only reason you two have someone as great as Brittany is because she is so utterly forgiving and wonderful that she can see past your emotional crap and see who you are deep _deep _inside."

There is a long moment of silence in which Jo leans cockily against the lockers and her mask stays in place. I am thinking. Santana is probably thinking as well. I open my mouth to speak but it seems that Santana has inherited a little bit of, well, stupidity and she blurts out a question before I can ask Corcoran to help me apologise properly to Rachel.

"How did you get the scars?" Santana and I take an abrupt step backwards when Jo's expression immediately darkens and she shoves away from the lockers. She looks from Santana, to me, and then back to Santana.

"You will not mention them again. In fact, just forget that you ever saw them. They are personal and…" she pauses and then becomes very, very still. "Don't tell Rachel." Santana and I share a curious, but worried, look. "Please, don't tell Rachel." It is a simple request but we can both tell that she is desperate for us to agree. I nod reluctantly, and Santana follows my lead. "Thank you."

I tell myself that it is the least I can do, seeing as I did slushy her. And slap her. And she has done nothing other than give me the best advice I've had so far to tell me how to apologise to Rachel and to, well, fix myself in general. I hate to admit it but she's right about everything.

"And the bruises?" Santana asks. I want to hit my friend, or hide behind her, when Jo glares at me.

"Ask her, Santana. After all, she is the one that told the boys to make sure I left McKinley. Right, Quinn?" I gape at her.

"I didn't, I mean, listen…"

"No. _No, _you listen to _me_ Quinn Fabray!" She strode forward and, much like Puck, grabbed my shoulders and shook me once. "I am black and blue because _you_ put the idea into testosterone-fuelled teenage boys that you wanted me to be violently dispatched. _You_ are the one I will blame because everyone knows those shit-for-brain apes out there haven't a single brain cell between them." She shook me again, grip tightening until I whimpered a little. I hadn't meant to, but it snuck out and she dropped me suddenly like I had burnt her. Jo closed her hands into fists and pressed them hard against her legs. She lowers her chin to her chest and sucks in a shuddering breath to calm herself. I sneak a glance at Santana, hoping she would help me but she was just staring at me – horrified. I tried again.

"I didn't mean for them to-"

"I don't _care_!" Jo screams. Her head snaps up and dark eyes lock with mine, narrowed and furious. Up until this point yes, she had been angry and yes, she scared me, but she hadn't raised her voice too much – I hadn't realised exactly how much this had affected her. I look closer. She is visibly shaking and the corners of her eyes are tight, as are her lips. Small, minute signs, but they make me pause. She isn't angry. Well, she _is_ angry, but she is also honest-to-god terrified. Petrified. Itching to get away and what she wants to get away from…is me.

"I'm sorry." There isn't really anything more that I can say. Jo jerks her head in a semblance of a nod. She tugs on the sleeve ends of her gifted shirt. "I am so sorry." I don't expect her to forgive me – obviously, given her entire speech – and when she frowns heavily and mutters 'I'm leaving' I stand to the side and let her pass. The moment the door closes behind Jo, Santana shoves me hard into the lockers.

"What the fuck is wrong with you Quinn?" I shake my head. I don't know. "You told the football team to beat her up? I told you not to hurt her. Brittany _needs_ her. She's finally going to graduate and you're going to ruin everything because you are a fucking moron!" She shoves me again and I shove her back.

"And that's the only reason you are angry with me? Talk about tunnel vision, bitch. Jo is a person too – she isn't just a tool to help Britt graduate. You can't even muster a _bit_ of sympathy that a real person was beaten up. You just don't want someone else to break your playtoy!" She shoves me and my back hits the lockers. I grab her wrists so she can't do it again. "Fuck! Listen to me – I didn't tell them to do that!" She struggles for a moment but I pull out my phone and show her the text. Sure, _now_ I realise that it was very badly worded but, in my defence, I hadn't really been thinking clearly when I'd sent it. I'd been worked up after a few days of watching her (after I'd slapped her) and knowing, _knowing, _that she was planning something. Now, well…Now I'm not so sure.

"San, I would never have told them to beat her up. I wouldn't." I need Santana to know that. I need at least one person that believes I'm nothing like him. She nods very slowly.

"I know Q. I know you wouldn't." She rubs her forehead and looks at the text again. "You're just a fucking idiot." She wraps her arms around my shoulders and I wrap mine around her waist. We stand there for a long moment, neither of us in a hurry to let go. San finally pulls away and adopts a business-like tone.

"Right. We finish today. Jo is coming around to mine to tutor Brittany this afternoon since she misses classes this morning so I will talk to her about her scars. After school, missy, _you_ are going to Berry's house and apologising to her."

"They attacked her best friend. She'll kill me." Santana nods. "I deserve it don't I?" San shakes her head.

"Not death, but a little bit of discomfort at least. You need this Q, we both do. We are 'emotionally stunted' little fucks and Jo was the only one brave enough to call us out on it." I scowl at her. "Please, I love you like a sister, but you are one scary mother."

"I thought it was mother-fucker?"

"True, but you're just a mother now aren't you?" She smirks and I don't hold back but punch her in the shoulder hard. She just laughs.

**So that's what we've got for that chapter. What did you think? Please review because I love reviews. Happy reading, readers :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Fifteen**

**Hello all. Not much to say about this. Glee – not mine. **

**Firstly, sorry that I'm late with this new chapter. I try and update every week but sometimes I just can't get the words out and this was one of those weeks. Secondly, I would like to take a moment to thank everyone for your lovely reviews. Thirdly, please don't be offended if I don't answer yours. I really appreciate every one of them but I usually don't answer if there isn't a question attached. **

**Without any further ado, here is another thanks in the form of a chapter. Please enjoy.**

JO POV

It's been a few hours since the incident at lunch, during which I have mostly hidden in the library and baked a cake with Britt (in Home Ec. I don't just randomly have cooking ingredients and appliances in my bag…most of the time). Rachel got a lift home with Finn and Puck, which was probably for the best because he'd taken them to school this morning and I drive my own car home. I collect my books from my room and (I think the phrase is hummed and hawed?) outside of Rachel's door for a long minute. To go in or not to go in? That is the question. (Sorry, couldn't resist.) A question that is answered when my hand reaches out, taps a hesitant knock and pushes the door open. She is sitting at her desk and scribbling furiously on something I can't see. I frown.

"Rachel, what are you doing?" She growls and rips out the page she was writing on, crumples it, throws it in the approximate direction of the bin, and begins again. I pick it up from the floor and smooth it out but I still can't tell what it is supposed to be. Her handwriting is _atrocious_ when she is speed writing. "Rach?"

"What I am _doing_," she grits out, "is apparently all that I am able to do. When Quinn hit me, you stopped me from hitting her back or even from talking to her. You sent me out of the room! And then at lunch today you sent me after Puck instead of even letting me see if you would be okay. So because you _still_ won't let me help you, I am writing a complaint to Principal Figgins and to the School Board." She scowls at the page – she's been writing this whole time – and, ripping it off, flings it behind her. I dodge the projectile but it's a near miss and I am infinitely more cautious when I approach her, not wanting to be permanently blinded. I let my hand hover over her shoulder for a second before I pull it back. I don't want to presume; I don't want to intrude on her personal space.

"Rach," I can't help but let a little humour enter my voice – I mean, really! "Rach, you are a pacifist. You are vehemently against violence and any act of a violent nature, which is why you are a vegan. I know if I had let you hurt her you would be disgusted in yourself." Her hand pauses in its writing and I smile. I'm getting through to her. "If I had let you talk to her you would have ended up saying something in the heat of the moment that you would regret and-" I stop talking. Immediately. Let the record show that I, Jo Corcoran, am an absolute idiot. Still, I have some brains and those brains are generally dedicated to self-preservation. And that self-preservation allows me to read body language. And Rachel is angry – _very_ angry.

She flings herself out of her chair and spins around to face me. I swear that, honest-to-god, her eyes are sparking so much that I am afraid the house will go up in flames if she moves closer to her curtains or her bedspread.

"_Let? Let_ me talk to her?" She shrieks. I wince, but I understand exactly what she objected to. "Who do you think you are to _let_ me do anything?" She glares even more heatedly at me. "Just because you are my sister doesn't mean that you control me and it really doesn't mean that you know best." I avert my eyes. "You need to report these, these _brutes_ to the Principal and I'm not going to _let_ you not do it." She stamps her foot for punctuation and opens her mouth to continue – probably her tirade on me overstepping my boundaries of semi-sister position – but her bedroom door slams open, bangs against the wall hard, and Puckerman is standing there, fuming.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Naturally, that is directed at me. You know, sometimes I wish that I had never come to Lima. Everything is so…dramatic. I sigh and sit myself down on Rachel's bed. "Rachel, is she fucking serious?" Rachel scowls up at him from her seriously unimpressive (what might be five foot and two) height but he ignores her. "They beat you up Jo. You can't just ignore that. Karofsky even said so – they _beat you up_."

"Yes thank you. I'm quite well aware of the fact Puckerman." He glares at me (what a surprise! It seems to be the only reaction I can glean from these teens at the moment) and I turn to Rachel. "And really, a job well done Rach. You've done a fantastic job calming Puckerman down in the_ three hours_ since lunch. Bravo." She flushes slightly but steadily ignores me and scowls again at Puck.

"Noah," she says, "please shut up." Her tone leaves no room for argument and he clamps his mouth shut. "You have interrupted an important discussion and, while I will forgive you for that, I will not forgive you if you persist in trying to break my fathers house." She looks pointedly at the door, which was still half-open from when he slammed it. Noah mumbles an apology and gently closes the bedroom door. "Jo and I were already discussing the topic and we are going to report this." I raise my hand.

"I don't recall agreeing to that."

"Jo, shut up." I close my mouth and Noah sends me a sheepish look. He gets it. She's fucking terrifying like this. Small, fun-sized, but scary as well. Oh, and loud. She's very loud.

"While Noah might be loud and inarticulate, he is absolutely correct. This…incident…is not something that can or should be ignored. It was a violent act and extremely dangerous and we are lucky that you were not hurt more than you were. We well report the perpetrators to Principal Figgins and to the School Board, _as I said before_," she adds with a glare in Puck's direction, "if you had been listening properly, because they must be punished." She starts pacing. "Figgins has been far too lenient regarding the issue of bullying at McKinley. There was Kurt who was harassed by Karofsky, the previous and current reign of terror by The Unholy Trinity, and I myself have had numerous slushie facials but Figgins ignores all of this." She stops and shakes her head mournfully. (This girl really will go far on Broadway. She has the perfect combination of dramatics and real sorrow working for her. I'm moved – almost.) "I'm afraid that without proper punishment the boys will feel like they can do this to anyone they want to." She looks at me pleadingly, probably because of the stubborn look she can see on my face. It's not really a big deal.

Noah nods vigorously. "Think about it Jo. What if they don't get suspended or whatever and they decide to beat up Rachel? Or Brittany? You might be fine," the look in his eyes tells me that he doesn't believe that for a second, "but they wouldn't be."

Oh God. It's a big deal. I blanch at the thought. Those thugs would kill Rachel. And Brittany…I nod slowly but I can't make myself look at my little sister. I'm far too angry with myself. Once again, I've failed to think of anyone other than myself. _Selfish! Disgusting, self-obsessed freak._ For once, I am in complete agreement with my inner bitch.

"You're right Rach." She blinks, probably surprised that I gave in so quickly. Noah doesn't look surprised. He nods. Still, she doesn't take long to recover but darts over to her desk and pulls out from stationery.

"In that case, I suggest that you write a statement about the attack and describe your injuries and we can have a witness, me of course, attest to the level of bruising and damage done." I stare at her. "You will deliver the statement to Principal Figgins in the morning and to the School Board because I think, realistically, the sooner we file the report, the better results we will get." She scribbles some notes. "I think that you should recommend expulsion on the basis of assault and also press charges."

"Woah. Hold on – charges? That's going a bit far, don't you think?" She scowls.

"Not at all. You'd make me press charges if they attacked me, wouldn't you? You'd get the police involved for Brittany and Puck and Santana and Kurt and-" I hold up my hand to make her stop.

"I think you've made your point," I drawl and she sighs.

"If you understand then you will do the right thing and press charges." She sits next to me on the bed. "Why would you think it would be different if they attacked me?" I ignore the question (and additionally the tiny portion of my brain that is still Shelby's little lap dog that screams _because you are the reason I am here, because you are Rachel Barbara Berry and you are better than me in every way and I would do anything for you_). Instead, I think of the brutes and imagine them hurting my Rachel or my Brittany, or even Puckerman, and I'm filled with an entirely irrational anger. I frown at the thought.

"Fine. I'll press charges."

"Hey, chill Jo. No need to be angry at Rach." Puckerman has shifted his body a little. I can tell that he would be able to reach out and pull Rach towards him easily and I can't help but feel just a little (read: extremely) offended. I send him a disgusted look.

"I'm not angry at Rachel." I don't see it at first but Rachel mimics my disgust, crosses her arms, and speaks when I do.

"She's not angry at me Noah." He looks between us and then shrugs, plopping himself down on Rachel's desk chair.

"I don't understand girls," he says mournfully and pulls out his phone, checking it for texts. Rachel takes the opportunity to make me take my shirt off. I bat her hands away.

"There is no need to be self-conscious Jo." She's getting frustrated by the fourth time I tell her no.

"Rach! Stop it." I bat her hands away again and finally Noah grabs Rachel and I retreat to the floor. "Look, Rach." I pause and take a short moment to collect enough information to make a semblance of a good lie. "You aren't a qualified medical physician so your statement would mean effectively nothing." Turns out I have no information about this stuff. I'm just making it up as I go along. "I appreciate your trying to help but I think I'll just go to the doctors after tutoring and get them to write a statement for me." I smile widely at her and she frowns.

"Fine."

"Fine," I mimic. I move to leave when Puckerman barks out a 'hey!' I freeze. He's caught me. I'm dead. He's going to tell me that my lie was absolute bogus and make me take my shirt off. He's…

"What if we ask Artie to find out if there are any videos?" We both freeze and look at him. He's a genius. Puckerman shifts uncomfortably. "Artie can, like, see if there was a bunch of guys following you on the school cameras and then it can be like, video documentation." Rachel grins at him and hugs him tightly, squealing. I roll my eyes at her. It's a great idea, I will give him that, but it doesn't warrant such a…physical reaction.

"Oh yeah! What about Quinn?" Rachel jumps up from his lap and closes her eyes for a second, which is strange. I make no comment on it though because I'm too busy glaring at Puck.

"Oh Quinn? You mean that friend of yours who you tried to shake to death?" He at least has the decency to look away, unable to meet my eyes, and I nod. Serves him right. There is never any call to manhandle anyone, least of all a woman. "She's fine. She was a little unsteady and confused but I'm sure she's fine now." He gapes at me.

"I don't care whether she's okay. She deserves to be freaked out for trying to get you killed. No. I want to know that you're going to mention her in your statement or something. I mean, she didn't punch you but she had a bunch of dudes punch you instead which is like, even worse, right?" Crap. I hadn't thought of that. She was stupid, that much was obvious, but I don't believe she had premeditated it. Or even that she had malicious intent.

"I'm not going to press charges against her," I say slowly. "But I do think that if I'm going to get into the role of punishing people then Quinn should at least be suspended." Rachel is nodding but Noah doesn't look convinced. "You know her pretty well Puckerman. Ignore the fact that you are a stubborn git and think about it. Do you really think she wanted me to get hurt?" He sets his jaw (stubborn!) but after a few moments he sighs and relaxes into the seat.

"Nah, she didn't. She'd probably throw up if she thought you'd been beaten up because of her. She doesn't even like football." He runs a hand over his mohawk. "Still, it was fucking stupid." I nod.

"Yeah, it was."

"So…suspension?" We turn to look at Rachel. Strange…she looks oddly relieved. I nod and her muscles lose their tense set. "Okay then." She bites her lip slightly and I frown. Why is she nervous? Suddenly her wraps her arms around me in a hug and before I can gasp or groan or shove her away she has let me go and is standing about a metre away. "Sorry." I wave it away. It didn't hurt that much.

"What was that for?" I absently rub my right side to banish the slightly uncomfortable phantom pressure of the bruises. She shrugs and picks at a loose string on her shirt.

"I guess because you're remarkable." I gape at her. Remarkable? That's a new one… "Don't get me wrong, you are infuriating and reckless and completely annoying at times," she scowls playfully at me, "but I know that you are just trying to figure out how to behave in a vastly different atmosphere and with a new family. And you are different from everyone else I've ever met but I'm not surprised by that because Rachel Barbara Berry, soon-to-be Broadway star, needs an equally impressive family cast by her side." She nods and I smother a laugh. Seriously, don't laugh. She is entirely serious. Noah smirks though.

"When you stopped Noah from hurting Quinn," (this is accompanied by a devastating glare at Puckerman who covers his private parts nervously), "I was shocked. I know that it would have been easy for you to let him keep going or to punch her yourself, especially seeing as you already knew she ordered the attack, but you didn't and for that, and for other things, I am really happy to be able to call you my sister." She looks like she's about to cry so I pat her awkwardly on the shoulder. I'm not sure if you knew this, but this is one of the things that make me super awkward. Tears and genuine gratitude. I'm not saying that people in New York aren't grateful when you do nice things for them, but they usually hide their emotions a little better. _Protect them_, a little voice says. _We protect ourselves_. Rach hasn't learnt to do that yet and the sheer outpouring of obviously heartfelt emotion makes me slightly queasy.

"Uh, guys?" Noah holds up his phone with a small scowl and seems to be unaware that he is interrupting a 'moment'. Rachel glares at him. "I have to go home. My mom says she wants to see me do my homework for once." He glares at the phone but we hug him goodbye. Well, Rach hugs him and I wave at him from the bed. I don't want to test the state of my ribs just yet. We lie on her bed for a little while before Rachel claps her hands and, I'm not entirely sure how she did it, but one moment she is lying beside me and the next she is standing over by her desk.

"Let's get to it then, shall we?" I think fast. I have to delay her. I can't let her see, well, me. And if I write a statement in her presence about the fact that the bruises are sort of everywhere then I'm fairly certain that she will demand to see them and then she'll see _everything. _Scars and all. I jump up.

"I, uh, I can't. Sorry. Not right now I mean. I have to go to Santana's house because we have a tutoring session. Not with Santana. I mean, with Brittany. But it is at Santana's house. It's because I missed class this morning." I avoid eye contact because she is looking at me with shrewd eyes and also glaring at me – she obviously hasn't forgotten that not only did I skip class this morning, I also forgot to text her. "Anyway, bye!" I go to leave and, opening the door, walk straight into a certain blonde cheerleader I could have done without seeing for a little while.

"Quinn." It is obvious to everyone present – me, Rachel, and the demon cheerleader – that my voice is flat and emotionless. Quinn freezes.

"Jo," she hesitantly answers after a moment with a nod.

"Quinn?" Rachel darts to her bedroom door (where I am still standing) and Quinn nods to her as well.

"Rachel." Rachel looks at me and then at Quinn. She clears her throat.

"Jo was _just leaving_ because she has tutoring." Quinn is still nodding. No doubt Santana already told her that. "You can stay if you must," she adds calmly, as if it isn't a big deal. I try not to smirk but I'm not entirely sure if I succeeded. As Rachel says it, all I can hear are the words she wants to say. _Jo was leaving because she has tutoring but you are very very welcome to stay and be my friend and we will bake cookies and talk and blah blah glitter rainbows friendship._ What a wonderful sister she is though. She is trying to be angry with Quinn on my behalf.

I raise a brow at Quinn before I move aside. _Do I have to stay?_ I ask telepathically. (Not really. I don't have that ability.) Quinn nods at me, perhaps also attempting telepathy to tell me that Rachel is safe with her and she won't hurt her. At least, that's what I gather. Whatever it is that she means, Rachel shoves me out of the doorway and waves me away.

"Go and tutor Britt. I'll talk to Quinn and then we can give in the statement tomorrow." I leave reluctantly but I know that both Santana and Figgins will be on my back if I fall further behind with Brittany's studies. Besides, both Dad Hiram and Daddy Leroy are home so they can a) save Rachel if Quinn sets her on fire or b) help Rachel get rid of Quinn's body if necessary. I yell a quick goodbye to Leroy and Hiram, who are baking in the kitchen, and drive to Santana's house. Santana, who knows that I've been beaten up and that I'm scarred from head to toe. Santana, Quinn's best friend. Santana, who has been described as Satan's spawn, the Unholiest of the Unholy Trinity, the HBIC squared, and the Evil Queen, (also some flattering terms, and some disgustingly sexual terms from some equally disgusting teenage boys). This is going to be fun. (Sarcasm)

QUINN POV

Getting to Rachel's house was easy. It was climbing out of my car that was the hard part. There were already three cars parked, two in the drive and one on the street, when I arrived. Thankfully, Puck drove away about five minutes after I arrived and I took his park. I climbed out and walked towards the house.

"Hello sir, my name is Quinn. May I speak to Rachel, please?" I shake my head. "Hi, can I see Rachel?" I frown. I am Quinn Fabray, parent-tamer extraordinaire so why do I feel so nervous? "Hey there, Rachel in?" Argh! I sound like a boy asking her on a date! I look up and find that I am face to wood with a front door. I stare at it for a little while. It is a very nice door. I raise my hand to knock. I lower it. I raise it again and, again, I lower it. I bounce on the balls of my feet for a few moments. I am about to raise my hand again – to knock for real this time, I swear – when the door opens and I look up into the smiling face of a very large black man.

"Hello there! I saw you from my reading chair." He points to the left where a chair is in clear view of the front door. I blush slightly at the thought that he has seen me standing here trying to muster the courage to knock. "Can I help you?" I open and close my mouth a few times but I can't seem to get any words out. He tilts his head slightly to the side and the left corner of his mouth twitches a little. I have the distinct feeling that I'm amusing him. "Alright then. An easy question. What's your name?" Ah. One that I can answer.

"Quinn."

"Quinn." He tests my name, saying it slowly and then at normal speed as though he is trying to recall it from somewhere. "Quinn, Quinn, Quinn." He looks to be thinking hard, tapping his chin with one finger. After a moment, his face brightens and he claps his hands loudly. "Quinn Fabray!" My heart sinks. He knows who I am. Rachel has told him all about what I've done. I'm doomed. "Lovely name, I've always thought. We've heard all about you." I swallow. Was this huge, smiling man about to smite me? "Please, come in, come in." Apparently not…

He tugs me in with a beaming smile and pulls me into the house, through to the kitchen and sits me down at a stool. Another man – small, pale, and with little rectangular glasses – is doing a strange shuffling dance in front of the stove. He turns with a smile when he hears us.

"Hello! Has Hiram kidnapped you? I keep telling him not to kidnap children but he never listens." I give him a weak smile and he chuckles, extending a hand. "Leroy Berry." I shake it tentatively, a little overwhelmed. _Russel would kill me if he knew where I was right now._ The thought makes me smile and, combined with this man's open and honest face, and his husbands apparent (although misplaced adoration of me) I feel myself relaxing. I shake his hand more firmly and Leroy beams. "There we go. I must say," he turns to his husband. "You did find me a gorgeous one today Hiram." Hiram's eyes are twinkling as he smiles down at Leroy.

"This is Quinn," he rumbles.

"Fabray?" Leroy snaps his head back around to me so quickly I'm afraid he'll hurt himself and raises his eyebrows. Hiram and I both nod – him gleefully and me slowly. "Well! Isn't this lovely? Rachel talks about you all the time. Well, she talks about all her friends in Glee but she really admires you. Are you here to talk to her?" I nod. "It's so nice for one of you to finally pop over here – everyone is so busy studying and she doesn't want to disturb anyone so we never get to meet any of Rachel's friends. It's just fantastic that Jo is here now to keep her company and to help her study." He is going to continue rambling. I can tell because he takes a deep breath like Rachel does just before she starts lecturing us in Glee, but Hiram claps a hand over his husband's mouth and smiles down at me.

"Her room is up the stairs and down to the end of the corridor. Last door on the left. Big gold star on the door, you can't miss it." I manage a smile despite al my fears rushing back – _what if she really does kill me?_ – and wave to Leroy who waves his doughy spatula back at me, still glaring with crossed eyes at the hand covering his mouth.

Hiram is right. It is very difficult to miss the big, gold star on the door. I stand outside it for a long moment and, when I finally do reach forward to knock, the door opens in front of me and Jo blinks down before frowning.

"Quinn." Her voice is very flat and my heart clenches. Not just with fear but a large dose of regret. I swallow hard and try to conjure a smile but my facial muscles are frozen. This woman is like a basilisk!

"Jo," I finally manage to answer with a nod.

"Quinn?" I look behind Jo to see a small Rachel peering at me. I nod to her as well. I want to smile but nodding really does seem to be the best that I can manage with Jo frowning at me like that.

"Rachel."

Maybe she sees that I'm nervous, or that I don't have the ability to start talking for myself, but Rachel pushes lightly at Jo's shoulder as she says, "Jo was just leaving because she has tutoring." I'm still nodding. It seems that now I've started I can't stop. "You can stay if you must." I try not to flinch at the cold words. See? Best friends. She's going to kill me. Jo appreciates Rachel's icy demeanour; clearly, because she can't quite contain the smirk on her face and Ii fight a groan. Congratulations Fabray. This is your last day on Earth.

Jo raises a brow at me and – good old Quinn – I just nod at her. Again. They must think that I am absolutely mental. Well, whatever they think, Rachel shoves Jo again and finally the older woman moves out of the doorway.

"Go and tutor," Rachel says. "I'll talk to Quinn and then we can give in the statement tomorrow." I blink. _Statement? What statement?_ Jo waves at Rachel and Rachel turns slightly to look at me. She doesn't invite me into her room. I don't ask to go in. I stand awkwardly in the corridor while she blocks the entrance to her room. We hear a shouted 'goodbye' from downstairs and a muffled reply from Rachel's dads, a slammed door, and we still don't move.

_Oh God. This is the part where she kills me. I'm going to die. She thinks that I tried to kill her friend and I am going to die. Forgive me for my lack of creativity with different ways of saying death and dying and the fact that I'm going to – die, that is – but I'm just freaking out a little about the fact that I'm going to _die_. Speaking of creativity, I wonder how she will do it. Will she sing a really high note and make my head explode? Or will she just shoot me or something like that? Would she bury me? Or something far more devious? She has plenty of people to help her hide my body. Her dads, Corcoran, Noah…I'm going to die. Oh God, help me. There are so many things I haven't done yet like go to college and go travelling and see the Louvre and seeing her on Broadway and have a family and – _

I am pulled from my thoughts – you might, I suppose, be correct in calling them 'hysterical' – when Rachel fits her hand snugly in mine and tugs me into her room. My heart stutters. _Maybe I should get that checked out?_ I take a deep breath. _Nerves_, I tell myself. _You are just nervous because Rachel is going to kill you or brutally maim/mutilate you. You are certainly _not_ nervous because she is holding your hand_. I don't pull my hand away though and, when we are in the room (door closed, I note absently) it is Rachel who pulls her hand away.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs and I frown.

"What for?"

"For touching you." I smooth the frown from my forehead. Oh. Right. I'm not supposed to want her to touch me. And by that, I only mean that I should be disgusted that she has touched me, not that I want her to touch me and I shouldn't want that. That's not what I meant at all. And yet, all I feel is that my hand is unusually cold and I kind of want her to slip her not-at-all-manly hand back into mine to warm it.

"Not to be rude Quinn," she starts nervously after a few minutes of me just standing in the middle of her room and staring at the floor, and her sitting on her bed, "but what are you doing here?" I don't answer. She seems to draw courage from something – my silence maybe, or perhaps it is the fact that we are in her room, or maybe it is just the fact that silence makes her feel the need to fill it with noise (which would explain a lot) – and her spine straightens and her hands move minutely so I know that she wants to put her hands on her hips but she knows that it would look ridiculous seated as she is, so she doesn't.

"Actually, I _am_ going to be rude. You slap Jo in the bathroom, watch her creepily for day, and then set a dozen boys on her and now you have the gall to show up here and, what? Finish the job yourself? Because she just left – you saw her. You can go after her if you want." She scowls at me. I rock back on my heels away from Rachel because I've never heard her use this tone before. This…fury. I've never seen this, not from her. I avert my eyes and see a small pile of stuffed toys on a toy truck and it hits me exactly where I am. A little bit delayed, sure, but still…

I am in Rachel's room. Rachel Berry's house. I shouldn't have done this. I should have waited until tomorrow and talked to her at school. I must have seen this room a hundred times in her videos but now I am actually here and I feel like I'm trespassing. I tuck my elbows in and wrap my arms tight around my stomach so I'm in no danger of touching something and breaking it, or contaminating it like I fear I am able of doing.

"I shouldn't have come." I take a half step back and turn, but Rachel jumps up from her bed and lays a gentle and on my forearm. It's warm and I stare at it, making her snatch it away. Self-conscious, I guess. I've been such a _bitch_ and she can't even stand to touch me.

"Quinn, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you." I gape at her. How is it so easy for her? Saying those words just seems to come so effortlessly to her. "Quinn?" She is peering up at me into unseeing eyes. "Please don't leave. You can sit down if you would like to." She directs me to the bed and I sit gingerly on the edge of it. We are both quiet. I place my hands flat on my thighs and rub slightly. They are clammy and I hate the feeling.

"Excuse my asking but…if you thought you shouldn't have come, why did you?" I pull my eyes up and away from my hands, which are now clenching and unclenching, and focus them on Rachel's shoulder.

"I just," I stop and swallow thickly. This was it. _Come on Quinn_. "I wanted to apologise. " I let my eyes trail a little higher, to lock with hers, and to my surprise her eyes are level with mine and she is staring right back at me. Somehow her calm eyes unlock the flood of words just waiting inside me and they spill out. "I am so, so sorry," my breath hitches and I let my lips quirk up a little. "I've wanted to say that to you for years since I gave you that slushie facial in freshman year." It is Rachel's turn to look away and I swear at myself in my mind. "That was an accident, by the way. I tripped and it hit you. I didn't want people to think I was clumsy because then I would have no chance to join the Cheerios and I needed cheerleading because Frannie was Captain and I had to be her and when the slushie hit you I remembered what my father, what _Russel_, said about your dads and how you were an" _abomination_ – I mouthed the word, sad "and I couldn't stop myself from saying that you deserved it."

She is silent for a long moment and I am back to swearing at myself in my head. I hadn't meant to say any of that. I pull the palm cards from the pocket of my jacket. The speech I had prepared for this very occasion – on the off chance that I ever made it this far – was written on them. I take a deep breath.

"I've wanted to say this to you for a long time but mostly since a few weeks into last summer. I know I was a bitch to you in freshman year," I begin reciting, reading from the cards, but then a small hand snatches them from me.

"You are _not_ reading what I assume is my long awaited apology off of palm cards Quinn Fabray. Try again." I flounder. Badly. I start – oh this is embarrassing – having a panic attack. I've had them before but never in front of anyone else. My panic attacks, well…I get warnings. My hands get clammy and start shaking and my chest tightens. I usually have enough time to make my way to the bathroom when I get them at school. At home I just lock myself in my bedroom.

Now, in the bedroom of someone who thinks of themselves as my arch-nemesis, my chest is tightening too much and I can't breathe. I wheeze and instinctively bring my chest down to my knees. I can faintly feel hands on my shoulders and on my forehead, but I've squeezed my eyes shut tightly and I'm shaking too much to tell if the hands are real or phantom. While I am desperately trying to breathe, I hear a cool, calm voice in my ear. I try to focus on the voice in the midst of the dizzying panic and, after a few minutes, the murmurings start to take on the shape of words rather than calming gurgles. I strain to hear them.

"You're alright Quinn. Don't worry. No one is going to hurt you. Breathe in. That's right, just like that. Breathe in. And out. There we go. Everything is fine. You're okay." My shaking slows and stops and she tilts my chin up to search my eyes. "Are you alright now?" I nod after a moment. It had been surprisingly mild and quick. Usually I need to throw up afterwards. "Okay then. Try again please Quinn."

I think about taking the cards back from Rachel. It would be easy – I am considerably stronger than her, I think. But it's a silly thought and I want to apologise to her, not frighten her. I think back on what Jo had told me. Well, hissed at me I suppose. _I suggest you start opening yourself up to people and really feel remorse for your actions. _I take a deep breath. Opening myself up. Got it.

"Your friend, Jo. She convinced me that I needed to do this. Well she helped. I mean, I was going to but I was scared, not scared because I don't get scared so more nervous and I didn't know how to start to apologise and she told me how. I had intended, I meant, I had, I am I I'm sorry." All my words disintegrated into meaningless slush and Rachel slips her hand into mine and she squeezes when I shake my head hard, terrified of panicking _again_.

"Quinn. Breathe and focus, please. Just calm down and say what you mean. I'm not going anywhere." She doesn't smile at me, which is fair enough. She just says it calmly and I am grateful because I don't think I would be able to do this without her. Obviously, I wouldn't _have_ to do it without her, but that's not my point.

"I don't understand why you are being nice. I've never said anything nice to you before but you are still helping me." She gives me a level look that tells me that she knows I am deflecting and buying time but that she'll play along.

"That's not true. You told me last week that I looked nice." I nod. I did say that. "And in primary school who told me that you liked my headband." I blink. Oh. I did say that. "And maybe I'm not being nice. Maybe I just want to hear the apology and I'm desperate to hear all the nice things that you'll say to me to try and make it up to me."

"No." I shake my head in wonderment. "No, you are actually just a really nice person." Perhaps I shouldn't have said it with such wonderment because she blushes and takes her hand back, out of mine. Well, maybe it was a good thing that she took her hand away because it – the warmth – was slightly distracting and I can think clearly now to start my speech again.

"Rachel." Her eyes dart back to mine. "I've wanted to apologise to you since…since forever. Since I slushied you in freshman year." I skip over the rest of that part because I have been over that in excruciatingly unintended detail. "Since I stole your gold crayon in first grade." Rachel scowls and I smile at her. "And I really wanted to apologise at the start of term this year but every time I saw you I just couldn't say the words and I was scared that _Fabray's don't apologise_." I feel my upper lip curl in a sneer at the memory of Russel telling me exactly that. "I wanted to apologise but I didn't know how."

"Thank you." I frown at Rachel and shake my head.

"I'm not done. You didn't think that was all of it, did you?" Rachel nods slowly and I am tempted to drop my jaw but I don't want to embarrass her (seriously? I just say I'm sorry and that's it? I don't think so) so instead I take a deep breath and continue.

"I'm sorry for all the names I made up and especially for insulting your dads." Especially now that I have met them. "I know that it's no excuse but Russel was always telling me about terrible things that _homosexuals_ do," I growl "and for a long time now I haven't really listened to him but it was seeing Santana and Brittany, and your dads this afternoon, that really told me that he was just a scared, stupid, homophobic bigot." I scowl at my mindRussel and then, thinking about what I'd said, I feel my face blanch. Oh God. Santana and Brittany. I just outed them. I turn wide eyes on Rachel but she smiles at me.

"I won't say anything. I already guessed but I still won't say anything." I sigh.

"Thank you." She nods and I run through the list in my head to find my place in The Apology. "Right. So, I know that it's no excuse but my fath- _Russel_ sort of taught me to hate your dads and to pity you and, when I told him that you were really happy with your dads, he told me to, well…he told me to save you and then, when you told me you were Jewish, he basically told me to make your life a misery."

"Wait…when you tried to get my to join Christ Club in sixth grade?" I nod and she raises her brows. "Wow." I nod again.

"Since then, every time I told him that I'd slushied you or that someone had insulted you he was so proud of me." I blink away the barest trace of a tear and Rachel presses her lips tightly closed – presumably because she is dying to speak but she doesn't want to interrupt. I know that she'll spontaneously combust if I don't hurry up so I skip to straight to the main apology. "There are so many more things that I have to apologise to you about and I know that just saying sorry won't really mean anything but I really am. Sorry, that is. I know that you probably can't forgive me but I hope that you'll let me try and make it up to you."

She stares at me for a little while, lips still pressed tightly together, and I start to freak out. _This was a bad idea. Run. Run. Run!_ Maybe it was the fact that I am tensing, or that I know my eyes are two times the size and I refuse to make eye contact, or that I'm having difficulty swallowing past the lump in my throat (fear, not a tumour), but she clears her throat and speaks.

"Are you done?" She asks tentatively and I nod. "You're wrong." I won't look at her. I won't leave, because I deserve this, but I won't look at her while she tells me that I'm just an awful person and nothing I say will ever make a difference. "You can say sorry as many times as you like and it doesn't mean anything at all." I blink furiously. I will not cry. I'm surprised when she rests her hand on mine again. She's such a nice person, even when she's telling me that I'm horrid. "You can also say it once and it would mean everything," she murmurs softly. My head jerks up and she frowns a little thinking frown. "I don't think I would have forgiven you a week ago, or even yesterday but…I don't know. Something has changed. Something has happened and it's like you see that you've really hurt people." Her frown clears in an epiphany before returning, deeper and darker. "_Jo_." My eyes widen. She knows that I saw her and her scars? She knows what Jo told me? Maybe Jo told her everything she told me about being an emotionally stunted little bitch…

"Jo convinced you to apologise?" I nod. "Oh that woman!" She growls and shakes her head. She jumps up again from the bed and starts pacing. "That stupid, infuriating, annoying woman!" I can hear her muttering insults at Jo and I cough lightly. She turns to me, eyes calm again, and smiles. "Quinn, I don't know what she said to you or how she made you see but, honestly, I'm glad that she did." She stops in front of me. "I've always wanted to be your friend." A tiny flicker of horror and reluctance shows in her eyes. "That is, only if you want to be."

"You want to be my friend?" I gape at her. "Even though I made up names about you and drew those pictures and slushied you and you think that I told all the guys to attack your friend?" She grimaces.

"Okay, if you want to be friends, you really don't have to repeat everything that you've done. And I never thought that you asked them to do that." She stares directly at me and searches my eyes. "You didn't, did you?"

"Of course not!" She nods decisively as if that proves everything. "But you should think that I did and Puck thinks that I did and Jo does as well and," she's shaking her head. Why is she shaking her head?

"Quinn, while I will admit that for a short time after I was told I believed that you had but then I realised that it couldn't have been you. If it had been, no one would have known that it was you. You would have been far sneakier and it would have been done with far more finesse." I am confused.

"Thank you?" She smiles.

"It just wasn't your style. I don't mean to offend you but you have always been far more emotionally cruel than physically intimidating. Yes, there were the daily ten o'clock slushies, and the occasional jock shoving me into lockers." I scowl. I didn't know about that. "But you've never physically hurt me or anyone else and I don't think that you would have started with Jo."

"I slapped her," I point out and she huffs. I smile a little because, though I won't admit it, it is kind of fun to frustrate her. Her eyes spark and her face is so expressive and she stamps her foot and it's so adorable.

"And you were horrified. You looked like you were about to throw up. I didn't take much notice of it at the time because you _had_ just slapped her and I will admit that fury was somewhat clouding my judgement. But I am fairly sure that the horror of that incident was genuine and you wouldn't have hurt Jo again."

I can't really describe the feeling that I get when I hear that she believes in me without me even trying to prove myself. No, even with me actively attempting to convince her otherwise. It's warm and bubbly and makes me want to cry. But I don't. Fabray's don't cry.

"Quinn…" she is apologetic. "While I might forgive you for what you've done to me, I can't forgive you for what you did to Jo. That's not something I can do." I nod. Fair enough. "You'll have to talk to her." I blanch and she blinks at me curiously.

"She terrified me," I slowly admit to Rachel. "Today I found her in the bathroom and I tried to apologise but she convinced me to apologise to you first because she couldn't accept an apology from me just because I thought it was the right thing to do." Rachel tsks, annoyed.

"She's so infuriating! She thinks you made people attack her and she wants you to apologise to _me_? Argh!" Rachel throws her hands into the air and flops inelegantly down onto her bed, bringing her legs up so she is sitting cross-legged and facing me. I pull my own legs up to copy her and move towards her so our knees are just a few centimetres apart.

"You're important to her." She lets a little smile cross her face. "And about that. I was…jealous," I say hesitantly. "You've never really had any friends and I'm sorry about that but we always…I could always rely on you to talk to me. Trading insults and the like."

"Actually, you insulted me and I defended myself." I shrug dismissively. Same thing.

"I'd made my mind up to apologise to you on the first day of school, you know? We ran into each other and you picked up our books because I was busy trying to get the words out to say sorry but I couldn't so I left. And then that afternoon you were with her in Glee and I couldn't see a way to get you on your own. Then the next day I saw you with her and you were so happy and I was so upset that I'd ruined your chances of ever having a real friend and I tried to apologise again but I couldn't and I, well, I convinced myself that it was because of her. That's sort of why I abducted you into the bathroom that day and when she turned up, that's why I slapped her."

Rachel looks at me like I am a very interesting piece of something; I would normally say a creature, or insect, but Rachel hates bugs so I suppose I am some new kind of musical theory or something. She shuffles closer on the bed and our knees are almost touching.

"Who is she?" I ask. "Where did you meet her? Why is she your friend?" She is looking at me so intently with those dark, brown eyes, with her head tilted very slightly and she looks so fascinated. I would feel guilty that I'm asking her questions when and she doesn't seem to be aware but I can't really help it. The questions just keep pouring out and she answers.

"She's my sister," she says. I don't think she even realises that she's said it at first. I stare at her for a moment and she blinks her way out of whatever she was thinking about and slaps a hand over her mouth. She leans away from me and her eyes widen.

"You mean," I say slowly, "that you are such close friends that it is as if you are sisters, right?" I say it but I don't mean it. Now that it's out there I can see everything as if in high definition. Jo when she is protecting Rachel from slushies and bullies. Rachel laughing with her. They have the same eyes and the same hair, Jo's just a little shorter. They have the same smile that is reluctantly produced from Jo but ever present on Rachel's face. They really are sisters. "Oh my god. She's your _sister!_" My eyes widen. "I slapped your sister. Oh god, they beat up your sister." I fall back onto the bed, for a moment forgetting that I'm not in my own room. I groan. "Kill me now."

"She's my sister." I open my eyes a little and look over at her ridiculously beaming face. "I have a sister. Isn't that fantastic?" I can't help but laugh a little because she is so _happy_ to have a sister. Maybe it is one of those 'laugh because if you don't, you'll cry' moments – I feel even worse than I thought I would now that I know that she is Rachel's sister. Huzzah. I manage to ruin my life in so many ways.

"I'm sorry." I grab her hand (brave Quinn!). "Really, I am. I didn't think that they would have hurt her. If I had even thought that it was a possibility I would _never_ _ever_ have sent the message." Rachel just nods solemnly and I bite my lip. I sit up from where I've flopped on her bed and we face each other again, adopting our cross-legged position. "Can I…can I hug you?" Her eyebrows rise up but she nods after a moment and, in the awkward way that all newly-made friends hug, we lean in and tentatively figure out that her arms go around my waist and mine go around her shoulders. And just like that, it's as if we've been hugging for years and we just rest there for a few long moments. I lower my head so that my cheek is resting on her hair and she squeezes my sides slightly, shuffling a little closer. Our knees press comfortably together. And it's perfect.

As with most things, perfection doesn't last.

"Sweetie?" The door to Rachel's room opens a crack and the outside world rushes into our little bubble. I want to be annoyed that my friendship bonding moment with Rachel is over but I can't really be angry with someone who is so openly happy. Leroy's face fills with crack in the door and then he pushes it open a little further. I've pulled back from Rachel by now but her hands are holding mine. "Quinn! Would you like to stay for dinner?"

I am all set to decline, absolutely certain that it would push the very recent friendship with Rachel too far, but I glance at her and, surprisingly, she is looking at me with exactly the same hopeful expression as her father. So, rather than decline, I beam at him.

"I'd love to." Leroy claps his hands and we hear him scurrying down the hall shouting to his husband 'she's staying for dinner!' Rachel groans and shakes her head but I smile. It's nice to be wanted.

**Hope y'all liked it. Please review and tell me what you thought. Happy reading, readers :)**


	16. Chapter 16

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Sixteen**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.**

**Hey guys, this one is a little different. It's a bit of a silly chapter; it's mostly just a little bit of fun for me. It came to me while I was talking to a friend and (funny story actually) I ignored them for about five minutes while I jotted down the idea and some of the chapter until they slapped my notebook out of my hand. Anyway, I hope you like it!**

**Oh, last bit. This **_is Quinn text speak___**and normal like this **is Santana text speak**. Sorry for the interjection – enjoy!**

**3:43pm**

_You'll never believe this._

Try me. Distract me please. Jo won't look at me and Britt is like a hyperactive bunny in a castle made of sweets playing with rainbows and Jo just loves it. Distract me before I puke glitter.

_Jo and Rachel are half-sisters. _

_San? Are you there?_

No.

_San?_

No. Fucking. Way.

_Yeah. That was sort of my reaction too._

So one of the Daddy Berries cheated? Berry's? Berries?

_No, one of the Daddy Berrys didn't cheat! Honestly San. Rachel's told us at least a dozen times that she is special because her two dads screened potential surrogates based on beauty and IQ and then mixed their sperm together and used a turkey baster. How can you not remember?_

Why would you remember that? Weird Q. Also, never say 'sperm' again in a text. It just reminds me of your little lizard baby.

_Fuck you._

**4:31**

Where are you?

_Rachel's house._

You aren't dead? Why aren't you dead yet?

_Maybe the poison is in the food?_

Wait…you try and kill her sister and she feeds you?

_Apparently. Her dads love me? We are playing Trivia and eating baked goods and I'm staying for dinner. These are the best cookies ever, by the way. Russel would be furious._

Because you're there or because you suck at baking?

_Both probably._

Yeah. Fuck him.

Wait, ew gross. Forget I said that.

_I can't. I have to go bleach my brain now. How are the tutor and the hyperactive bunny?_

Still hyperactive and Jo has been successfully side-tracked to talk about the probability of unicorns existing with Brittany. She told her that she doesn't think they exist but they might 'dwell on an alternate plain of existence'. Yeah. She's a Berry.

_Did Britt cry?_

No. She told Jo that they have the power to pass through inter-dimensional gateways through the gift of wishing.

_Seriously?_

Yep. Oh crap, gtg. Britt hugged Jo.

_So?_

_Oh right. Crap. The bruises. Text me when it's under control._

**10:03**

Are you coming home tonight?

_Nah I'm at the Fabray's. _

You're still alive then? I guess the food wasn't poisoned.

_Guess not. _

_Probably should have died though. Jo came back after dinner and I thought she was going to kill me. _

What happened?

_Nothing. Rachel just looked at her and shook her head and Jo sat down and didn't say anything. The Berry dads didn't see anything because they were getting dessert. It was super weird. Maybe Rach texted her that I apologised…Anyway how did it do with Britt and the hugging/bruises thing?_

You apologised? Go Q!

And Britt is really upset that Jo is hurt. J didn't tell her it was your fault though but Britt figured it out anyway.

_Why didn't she tell B?_

Don't know. Maybe she isn't as much of a bitch as you are.

Sorry.

_No. I deserved that._

Yeah, you did.

Oh and Britt knew that Jo and Rachel were sisters.

_What? No way. _

Yeah. She knew since the second day of school.

_She didn't tell us?_

I know. Britt said they didn't want people to know so she didn't tell us. Also, Britt said that you were jealous and it was cute.

_I was not!_

Were too! Hi Quinn this is B :)

_Hey Britt _:) _How was tutoring with Jo?_

Great! Jo is nice but she doesn't think that unicorns exist.

_You'll have to make her believe that they do then Britt._

I will. Night night xx

_Night B xx S, go to sleep. Love, your Captain (training in the morning so try not to do anything too…strenuous)_

Shut up Bitch. Love ya xx

**I know it was super short but I just thought it was cute and it fills in some missing aspects and I love the Unholy Trio friendship. Okay then. Happy reading, readers :)**


	17. Chapter 17

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Seventeen**

**Glee isn't mine. **

**Hola amigos! How are we all today? Oh, I just wanted to say in reply to an anonymous review I received by someone who was greatly upset by the fact that I was making excuses for Quinn's behaviour that this is a love story and, as such, I am making them fall in love… which means that Quinn has to be forgiven and which means that I will make up whatever excuses I want to. I will apologise if it doesn't seem realistic but I'm honestly not too bothered by it because I just want my little characters to have fun and fall in love and honestly, at the end (SPOILERS) they are going to be happy. Sorry if that disappoints you. Nevertheless, I hope that you enjoy this next chapter:**

JO POV

Santana's house is quite nice, I've decided. I've been parked outside for a good ten minutes staring at it and wondering whether or not I should go in. A flash of blonde at one of the front windows makes me frown. Britt would be upset if I didn't go in. I did pinkie promise her. She'll probably cry if I don't go in. I sigh. I am getting _really_ good at convincing myself to do things. I guess I'm going in. Also, I feel like a little bit of a stalker just sitting here and looking at the house.

I grab my bag from the passenger seat and force myself to step out of the car, ignoring the way my legs tremble slightly and the little constant ache in my side. The second I knock on the door, Brittany flings it open and beams at me.

"Jo! Sanny said you weren't coming." I smile at my over-exuberant student.

"Well, Sanny shouldn't talk about stuff she doesn't know anything about." I pitch my voice so that, hopefully, it will reach Santana. Wherever she is… Brittany frowns a little but obviously decides to ignore my comment and grabs my hand and pulls me into the house. The little tug she gives my hand hurts a bit, stretching the already stretched ligaments in my wrist, but I don't really mind. I'm just glad that she didn't decide to go for a full on hug.

"Come on in, I'll give you a tour." She closes the door behind me and, after manipulating her hand in mine so she has a better grip, begins to drag me around Santana's house. We start downstairs.

"This is the kitchen and this s the T.V. room and this is the dining room and this is the bathroom and this is the laundry and this is the study and this is Marco's room but he's in college so you probably won't meet him." She pauses as she pulls me up the stairs. "This is Sanny's room and this is Quinn's room." I'm surprised and make a note of this. Quinn lives with Santana? "And this is my room sometimes but usually I just sleep in Sanny's room." There is a very faint thud from downstairs and a groan. I grin. "And this is Mami and Papi Lopez's room." She pulls me back down the corridor and pops into her room, grabs some books, and pops out again. "I'm ready!"

She tugs me back downstairs and we meander through the kitchen – and I do mean meander because Brittany has decided that the black tiles are some kind of corrosive liquid (or perhaps lava. She wasn't very specific) and that we shouldn't step on them, nor the white tiles immediately adjacent to them, so we have to move from safe tile to safe tile haphazardly – into the dining room. Santana is sitting there texting someone and doesn't look up as we enter the room. She does wiggle her fingers in a pseudo-wave and bares her teeth in a small smile before resuming her clicking on the phone.

"Do you want some cookies?" Brittany holds up a plate to my eye level and I drool a little when I see them embedded with m'n'm's.

"Thank you Brittany." _My one weakness. How did she know?_ I ignore the obvious answer of 'because I eat them all the time' and it strengthens my belief that Brittany is some kind of mad genius. A mad, _loveable_, genius I add when she beams at me. I fold myself into one of the dining room chairs gingerly and pull out my textbooks. She sits opposite me. "Let's get started, shall we?"

About fifteen minutes into the tutoring session, Santana gets a text that makes her eyes widen almost comically. She doesn't reply immediately and the phone busses in her hands again a short while later, shocking her into sending a reply. I, in turn, am shocked into paying attention to Britt when she nudges my arm with her book. I blush and focus on Brittany instead of spying on her friend in my peripherals, no matter how much my mind screams at me to keep an eye on her. _She knows one of your secrets, _I tell myself. _She is not to be trusted. _

"Is this the right answer, Jo?" I take a quick look over the questions and her answer and press a sticker to her book. It is a frog this time and it is wearing a bow tie.

"Perfect Britt. Well done." I smile at her and wait patiently while she jumps up and starts her victory dance – the same dance she's done at least twelve times already this afternoon. I laugh a little. I can't help it. Everything with Brittany is…easy. No pressure. It's just unconditional friendship. Not many people are like that and I hope to God that she stays like this for many, many years to come. I'm sure she will, if Santana has any say in the matter. She is carefree and silly and it's cute. Unusual. And I'm sorry, oh picky brain of mine, if that sounds too sappy for your bitch image but, if you must know, I do tend to get a little sappy when I'm contemplating life and pain and things like that, which generally happens after a particularly thorough beating.

Santana looks up with a jolt when I laugh. I think I scared her. Her eyes dart over to Brittany and she smiles as well and I know (relative term – knowing in so far as I can know without being her) that she is thinking the same thing I am. She hopes Britt will stay this perfect forever. Her eyes dart back to me and her smile fades a little before she looks away. I'm relieved that she didn't choose to talk to me now – particularly not with Brittany around – but mostly I am sad at the loss of a potential friendship. Santana probably hates me now. Regardless, I take a peek at Santana's work and make some small adjustments before turning my attention back to Brittany, who has now finished her dance and collapses into her chair, beaming at me. I smile back and write another problem in her book. Might as well take advantage of her positive energy – sometimes she gets into these moods where she is far too easily distracted to work. When I write the question she pouts at me but dutifully picks up her pencil and puts down her head to work.

Unfortunately, her patience with study only lasts about thirty minutes today so, when I notice that she is getting tired, I decide to distract her a little and then gently bring her back to study later. I like to think of it as a study break, but it may be more accurate to call it a study detour.

"Did you know that maths is useful in all aspects of life?" She looks up at me suspiciously. I recognise the look as 'who do you think you are kidding?' and smile. "Think about it – all of those ducks flying around and they are doing maths without even thinking about it."

"Do they have to go to school?" She blinks up at me and I shrug. "Then how do they learn how to fly and swim and stuff like that?"

"Well, how do you know how to swim?"

"Sanny taught me," she says matter-of-factly. I purse my lips and then an idea hits me. I wish I had one of those light bulbs cartoon characters have so I can put it over my head.

"Okay then, how did you learn how to dance?" She shifts in her seat and frowns cutely, nose wrinkling.

"I don't know. I just dance." I spread my hands out, palm upwards.

"Well there you go. You dance, ducks fly."

"So…I'm a duck?"

"You are a wonderful dancer. If you were a duck, you would be the best at flying." She beams at me and Santana coughs abruptly. I think she's laughing. "So, back to maths." I tap her book with the end of my pen but Brittany frowns and leans away from it, pulling her hands back as well. I sigh. It's not like it's a disease. "Britt, come on. I bet even unicorns do maths. Flying is easy for ducks, like dancing is easy for you, but unicorns have to learn to fly. Think of all the stuff they have to learn – speed, distance, time, counteracting wind speeds. A whole bunch of stuff!" Brittany's frown deepens and she looks at me like I'm stupid.

"Jo, unicorns don't fly. The horses with wings fly." Santana mumbles 'pegasi' and Brittany nods. "Pegasi fly." I frown as well.

"Unicorns can't fly? At all? I thought they were, you know, magical flying rainbow creatures." I wave my right hand in the air slightly as I describe them in an effort to capture their magical rainbow flying qualities. Brittany sighs.

"They _are_ magical," she explains patiently, "but they don't fly. They just have to wish themselves wherever they want to go and they are there." I try to focus on her explanation and ignore the obvious creepy ways that power could be used.

"Oh. Okay." I suppose my reluctance to believe in the existence of magical, flying, glitter eating, rainbow pooping horse creatures was evident in my tone because Brittany's eyes narrow into electric blue slits. She probably thinks I'm making fun of her.

"You don't believe in unicorns." Santana tenses in her chair. She isn't looking at either of us. Now _she_ is a clever girl – unlike me – because she's trying not to be drawn into this conversation. Brittany is terrifying.

"Um, no. I don't think so." Her eyes narrow further, if that's even possible. "I think that it is possible that they _might _exist." Is it obvious that I am trying to dig myself out of the proverbial hole? Of course, being a person who is utterly stupid, I defend myself instead of just going with placating the obviously irate Brittany. "I doubt they could exist on this planet or in this universe though." It is a fair enough point in my opinion, but Brittany's face falls and Santana raises her head a little to stare at me, aghast. "What? I didn't say that it is impossible. I just think that this world is too focused on certainties and science and, if they exist, unicorns would like in a parallel universe made by …wishes." I say lamely. "I mean, cynicism and hatred probably acts as some kind of pollution for unicorns, right? They couldn't live in this world." _Where wishes don't come true_, I add silently. I flush a little when Brittany and Santana just stare at me. Brittany looks thoughtful but Santana, well…Her face is the epitome of 'what the fuck?'

"I think…maybe they are able to travel here." Brittany nods at her own words, face set in stubborn lines. "Unicorns are, like, _super_ powerful. They have the power to pass through the inter-dimensional gateways across parallel universes." I blink at that but decide not to dwell on it. She's smart. I knew that already.

I shrug. "I suppose you could be right Britt. I don't know everything and it's probably not _im_possible." Brittany beams and I smile at her enthusiasm. Now, if I can just direct it back into our study…I snap back into teaching mode. "Okay so, speaking of unicorns," I pull out my sticker packet, "if you answer the next five questions I will give you a sticker for each of them to take home, and a unicorn sticker on your book."

By the end of the tutoring session I am supremely glad of Santana's presence. We moved from maths onto English and, because Brittany finds the concepts easier to grasp in English, she is far more prone to hugging. The table between us is a useful deterrent to prevent most of the (painful) hugs from Britt but thanks to Santana I haven't been hugged at all this afternoon. Santana is gifted with recognising when Brittany wants to hug someone and she either distracts her friend or accepts the hugs intended for me. I'm grateful. Well, I'm upset of course because she knows that she has to take those hugs because she saw my bruises when she walked in on me, but I'm also grateful because at least she is trying to help me. I refuse to acknowledge it when she does this for me though – I don't want to see the look in her eyes when she is reminded of what she saw. I don't want to see pity or disgust; both of which are equally likely. Pity because who wouldn't pity the poor, little, broken girl with the scars? And disgust, well, it's rather self-explanatory. I don't blame her though: I'm disgusted in myself. _You are weak. You couldn't even defend yourself. You disgust me_. My Shelby voice thinks so, why wouldn't Santana?

I yawn and both feel and hear my jaw crack. I shake my head. Turns out that Dave waking me up every two hours to make sure I'm not dead isn't exactly conducive to a nice nights sleep. Not bad, but not good either. I'm exhausted.

"You can have a nap if you want." Brittany smiles at me. Her expressive eyes are just slightly tinged with worry. I smile back, but shake my head in the negative. "I can study on my own," she insists.

"No, thank you Britt. I'll just sleep when I get home." I narrow my eyes playfully at her. "Don't think that you can distract me that easily Miss Pierce. You still have two paragraphs left to write for me." I tap the page with my pen and she smile innocently at me. When I'm sure that she is focused on her work, I lean back into the chair with a tiny grimace. I shift to find a more comfortable position but my muscles are cramping a little from holding me in the least painful position: every little stretch and movement is agony. I press a hand tentatively to my side and bite my lip so I don't make a sound as, in very slow, short shifts, I move myself into a position that (I hope) will be more comfortable in the long run. When I finally settle, the hairs on the back of my neck prickle and I look up sharply to find Santana watching me with a carefully blank expression. I can't tell what she is thinking so instead I turn away and look over Brittany's English homework. I don't have the energy to deal with Santana. Not yet. Maybe tomorrow.

In my peripherals, I see Santana look away and continue texting her mysterious contact. A little smirk crosses her face and I wonder what she would look like if she wasn't smirking but instead smiling. Like, a _proper_ smile. It's a stupid question that takes up far too much of my attention imagining the outcome; attention that I don't have to give. Why? Because my number one rule is: never let yourself be distracted whilst in mortal peril. And what do I let myself do? Get distracted whilst in mortal peril. Good one, Jo. Okay so, technically, I'm not in mortal peril. But I am in danger.

I absent-mindedly check Brittany's work and give her nine marks out of ten and, distracted as I am by thoughts of a smiling Santana (demon woman!), I take my eyes off of Brittany who decides that now of all times – while Santana is distracted as well – is the time to hug me.

I have only a few seconds warning. Brittany stands to do her victory dance and progresses around the side of the table and then, as Santana looks up from her homework and opens her mouth to say something (one of her fantastically snarky comments perhaps), her eyes widen. She looks horrified and I wonder why. Then Brittany's arms wrap around me from the side. These stupid chairs don't have any arms to them and she just flings her limbs around me and pulls me up and out of the chair into her chest and a shocking amount of pain explodes at the same time. I freeze. Apparently (who knew?) pain, fear, and fatigue aren't a good combination (I've always quite liked them. We are _such_ good friends) because it isn't just my muscles that freeze. I stop breathing too, just for a second, when wave after wave of pain threatens to overwhelm me and I remember to gasp a breath when I distantly feel Santana prying Britt's arms away from me. I stagger forwards so that my thighs are pressed against the dining table and my hands are flat on its surface. The rough wood helps to ground me a little and I pull one hand up to my side. For a minute I breathe. Just breathe. Then I pull myself fully upright and smoothly turn to give Brittany – sweet, lovely, and now thoroughly terrified and about-to-cry Brittany – a small smile. She reaches out a hand towards me but snatches it back before she can quite touch me.

"I hurt you." She whimpers. I shake my head.

"No Britt. I'm fine." Santana shoots me a dirty look and turns sharply to Brittany, who is standing beside her, and nods.

"Actually Britt, you did hurt her." Brittany's lower lip wobbles tremulously and Santana continues talking unhurriedly, but grabs her friend's hand. I see her rub her thumb along the back of Britt's hand and I grin dazedly. _They are _so_ cute._ "Some really mean people thought it would be clever to hurt Jo yesterday so she's got a bunch of bruises and you pressed on them when you hugged her." Brittany turns her eyes on me and I jump back in sudden fright. The backs of my thighs hitting the table top. Her normally clear, blue eyes are a stormy grey and she raises a hand to my cheek gently in a jarring contrast.

"Was it Quinn?" she whispers. Santana makes a choking sound and I raise my brows at the blonde. She answers my silent question. "You were hiding from her yesterday and I know that you weren't hurt then." I tilt my head to the side and consider.

"No," I say slowly. "No, it wasn't Quinn." Britt's eyes harden and she rips her hand away from my cheek, bringing to down to her side.

"Do _not_ treat me like I'm stupid Jo. She might not have been the one to hit you but if she hadn't hurt you somehow Puck wouldn't have been angry at her today and you wouldn't have scary stared at her." I close my mouth, which was slightly agape with surprise, and nod. I shouldn't be surprised by her genius anymore.

"I'm sorry Britt. I forget sometimes how observant you are." She frowns. "I forget sometimes that you can see things that others can't and more quickly." Her eyes spark in recognition of the new word but I know that she still isn't happy with me because they are still dark and troubled. I don't want to say it though. I don't want to be the one to confirm one of her best friends is a bitch.

"Quinn sent a text." I look over, surprised, at Santana who has started to explain. "It was _really_ badly worded," she laughs bitterly, shaking her head, "and they thought she was asking them to beat up Jo but she really wasn't. She wouldn't do that." The explanation sounds a bit more like a plea to me than I would like, so I ignore it. Brittany scowls and it is so unlike her normal carefree expression that I can't help but smile.

"Well that was silly of her." Santana and I nod quickly in unison and Brittany fixes me with her once again clear blue eyes. "Is Rachie really angry with Quinn?" I raise my brows again in question. They are getting quite a bit of exercise today. Santana shifts uneasily but I can't for the life of my think of why she would be uneasy. Brittany continues. "I would hate it if my sister was hurt." My mouth dries suddenly and I can't make myself open it. It feels like my tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth and I just _stare_ at her.

Finally, I manage to croak, "She's my friend." Brittany shrugs.

"Yes. She's your sister too, right?" _Crap. Crap crappity crap. Crap muffins. Rachel is going to kill me!_

"How did you know that Britt?" I am snapped out of my hysteria and narrow my eyes at Santana. The way she said that…

"How did _you_ know that Santana?" she flushes and glances at her phone on the table. She had been texted, clearly. "Who told you?" I demand.

"Quinn. Quinn told me." I frown. Quinn? But I left Quinn with Rachel. I relax slightly. If Rachel told Quinn, and Quinn told Santana, then it wasn't my fault. _Everything is your fault_. I shove my bitch to the far back of my mind. If Rachel told Quinn, then she probably doesn't mind that people know we are sisters now. I eye Santana warily. Who knows how she will use this information? She could ruin Rachel – Rachel, sisters with the scarred freak. I try not to dwell on that and instead turn to Brittany. I still don't know how she found out.

"Britt? How did you know that they are sisters?" Brittany smiles and shrugs at Santana's qyestion.

"I don't know. You just are."

"Oh." Santana sounds as stupefied as I feel. "How long have you known?" Brittany grins at her friend/girlfriend and at me.

"Since the second day of school, sillies. You ruffled Rachie's hair and she was upset that you were bruised." I nod. I remember that. It is a constant state of being for me, granted, but I remember that specific day. "Plus, you two look super the same. I don't know why everyone else took so long to figure it out." I don't point out that no one else _has_ figured it out and instead laugh. And regret it instantly when it jars my ribs. I don't let it show. Serves me right, really – I should learn from my mistakes. Plus, I don't want to worry Britt any more than I already have.

"You are amazing," Santana rasps. Brittany beams at her. I look away just in case they start making out. These expressions of happiness/almost make-out sessions seem to be a common occurrence. As it is, they don't make out but it gets pretty close. As they stare at each other, I pack up my books and leave a sheet of frog stickers for Brittany to enjoy, tucked into her English book for her to find later, and turn back to the couple.

"Well, I should be going." I smile weakly and start towards the door but Brittany darts in front of me and holds her hand out expectantly like she wants a high-five. I frown at her hand. I am fairly sure that high-fives are relatively spontaneous expressions of dual awesomeness, but she seems adamant. When I don't move immediately, she huffs and grabs my hand. She presses our hands together as if we are high-fiving and, after a second, brings her thumb up and around my hand and squeezes like a hug. I smile involuntarily and she grins back.

"It's like a hug but for your hand!" she squeals. I squeeze her hand. "This way I can hug you and it won't hurt." She looks inordinately pleased with the suggestion so I squeeze once more in a thankyou and let go.

"Okay. I really do have to go now." I nod to Santana, who is still avoiding direct eye contact with me, and she nods back. I slip out of the door and into my car. Sinking into the leather, I sigh and have to conscientiously fight the deep urge to close my eyes. I know that if I do I won't wake up for hours. I am_ that_ tired. Just one last stop – the doctors – and then I'm free, free as a bird, to head on home.

The drive to the doctors office seems unnaturally long and when I finally get there it is almost five-thirty and the receptionist glares at me like I am the cause of all the worlds problems. I could almost forgive her that if she was a teenager – they are so dramatic – but she looks to be about thirty so she has no excuse.

"Can I help you?" I give her my best 'I hope you die a slow and painful death' sweet smile and lean in towards her.

"I'd like to see a doctor, please," I say in a slow, careful way. She rolls her eyes and – I kid you not – pops her gum loudly in my face before pressing a button on the intercom. I have a flashback to the receptionist at the school except that this one looks younger and has shocks of purple hair. Other than that, almost everything about them is the same. The nasal tone, the bored eyes, the fake nail, and especially my initial, immediate, and surprisingly overwhelming sense of 'I hate you' towards them. McKinley's receptionist was content to be an ugly spinster though, and this one seems to be attempting to recreate her youth in the most ridiculous, repulsive ways.

"Hey Doc. You free?" I hear a sigh before an answer crackles through.

"Yes Doreen." Really? Now, I already know that God has a sense of humour due to my twenty-one years of anecdotal proof of His (or Hers, whatever) superb sense of irony. But this? Classic. Doreen is the best name for a receptionist ever. She looks up at me and pops her gum again.

"Down the hall. Third door on the left. Can't miss it." _I'll miss you_, I think, _like I miss being punching in the face. Repeatedly._ I don't know what it is exactly that is making me this obviously mean. Maybe it's because I'm tired but it is so _easy_ to be a bitch. Or maybe it's because she makes it easy for me to be mean to her… I refrain from saying anything to the receptionist, afraid that I will say what is really on my mind, and instead make my way silently to the third door on the left. Turns out that it is actually the fourth door on the left, but she conveniently left out the fact that the real third door on the left is a janitors closet. I am tempted to go back and hulk out on her but contain myself. Instead, I knock on the fourth door.

"Come on in. I'm just doing some paperwork." I push the door open and a rather, oh how should I put this? A rather _quietly_ beautiful woman is sitting at the desk. She looks up with a smile over her glasses. At first glance, she seems ordinary but her face sort of grows on you. I, of course, see this straight away because I like to actually see people rather than look at them, a skill I've picked up over the years. It helps in life when you can tell who is nice and who is pretending to be nice but hides an undercurrent of cruelty and sadism. "How can I help you?" I flick a cursory glance at one of the wonderful looking, padded chairs in front of her desk and she gestures to it. "Oh yes. Please, sit." I smile at her. A real smile (yes, I am capable of them. Don't worry, I'm surprised too) and ease myself into it. _I am in heaven_.

She scribbles away for a few minutes but I don't mind. The only thing I feel in danger of is of falling asleep. Indeed, I start to drift away and I'm a little grumpy when she does clear her throat eventually but I pull myself straight and blink a few times to focus. She smiles warmly at me.

"How can I help you?" I clamp my mouth shut immediately. I've had too many instances lately where I just blurt out whatever I'm thinking and I want to take this carefully, delicately. I think my answer through thoroughly before I let my mouth open.

"Well, I was hoping you would answer a question for me." She takes her glasses off slowly and focuses her shrewd gaze on me. I like her. I'm sure that she has used this gaze on everyone that comes through her office from the little old ladies that come in daily to quibble with her about their hips to once in a lifetime visitors. It makes you feel special. It is also polite and focused and I am sufficiently impressed. "I was wondering if, hypothetically speaking, I were to be submitting a statement saying that I had been physically assaulted, you would be able to examine me and verify that?" Her face clouds over a little but she nods.

"I am qualified." I fidget slightly. This is important.

"And if, hypothetically speaking of course, I were to ask that no photographic documentation be taken, would the statement still be accepted?" She pauses for a moment – no doubt shocked – but nods.

"I do not take photos of injuries," she says. "If you were giving this statement to the police then they would take the photos." She looks me over and nods again, more to herself this time. "If you were giving it to a school board then my statement alone would be satisfactory." I nod. This is great. I really hate photos.

"Great." I feel my fingers tapping on my thigh but don't bother to suppress it. If I did, my foot would inevitably start tapping and that would be loud on the wooden floor. She clears her throat when if becomes clear than I'm not going to say anything else.

"This hypothetical situation isn't hypothetical, is it?" I shake my head no. "Would you like me to examine you now, then?" I nod. She stands and ushers me through another door in her room. I sit on the edge of the crinkly, sterile bed in the middle of the room and she closes the door behind us. She takes a moment to collect her equipment before turning to face me.

"Now. Let's see what we've got to work with." I shrug my jacket off without pause but I hesitate on the hemline of my shirt. She looks up at me when I don't move, face serious. "Are you alright? Would you like to have a chaperone here or a family member?" I shake my head no again and hold up a finger in the 'one minute' signal. She seems to understand and sits back on her rolling chair patiently. A few moments later, after convincing myself to stop being a wuss, I pull the shirt up and over my head in one smooth movement. I gather that if I do it in one movement it will hurt less. I don't know. It still hurts. She muffles a gasp.

"Well." She blinks and I clench my hands at my side. If she starts crying or some shit like that I swear I will walk out. "Okay then." I feel a bit ashamed at the thought because, as I should have known, she is a complete professional and masks her shock in seconds. She snaps on a pair of gloves and pokes and prods at me for a good five minutes. I am thoroughly exhausted of the question 'does this hurt?' and finally fix her with a glare and tell her calmly that everything hurts. She hums and mutters to herself before moving away and jotting down some notes. She peels off her gloves and fixes me with a serious look.

"Well. First things first. There isn't much, medically speaking, that I can do for you. They are bruises and they'll heal by themselves given time. I recommend, of course, that you ice your ribs and get plenty of rest. You should also rub some warming gel on the bruises at night. It will help you relax and you'll sleep much better. Also," she smiles, "don't go picking fights." I smile as well. Not that what she said was actually funny. It wasn't. My smile is the equivalent of the pity laugh. "On the bright side, nothing seems to be broken and I don't think there is any internal bleeding." I nod. That just about sums up the bright side of my life. No broken bones. "Now, let me write up a statement for you, and we're done."

Thirty minutes later, give or take a few, I am sitting opposite her desk again. I've had a little catnap while she taps away on the computer and now the statement is printed and sealed in an envelope, which is resting on her desk. She presses a button on the intercom.

"This one is pro bono, thank you Doreen." There is a strange crackling sound in return before a bored 'yeah, sure Doc' is heard. She beams at me but I frown.

"That isn't necessary." She waves a hand dismissively.

"Nonsense. I like doing a little something for people."

"Even complete strangers?" She fixes me with a look that, despite her warm smile, is disturbingly knowing. Not 'disturbing' as in she's a creepy fuck desperate to stuff me in a van aided by the lure of lollies to have her wicked way with me. Not like that. I mean 'disturbing' as in it makes me uncomfortable with how much she knows, or thinks she knows.

"You are correct, Miss Corcoran, that I don't know you but don't fool yourself into thinking that you are the only girl I've met that looks like you do." From a mental distance, I can appreciate her no nonsense attitude and 'cut-the-crap' words. Sadly, I'm not thinking like that at the moment and I'm just angry.

"So, the bruises Miss Corcoran. They are a day or so old?" I nod stiffly. "And what about the scars?" I keep my face carefully confused as if asking 'what scars?' "Fine. I guess that none of them are too recent. Four years old maybe. The oldest ones I saw look anywhere between ten and fifteen years old though. Am I right?" Her smile is gone and I match her easily, stare for stare. I also retract any thoughts I had about her beauty. Not that she isn't beautiful anymore, just that I'm a little too angry to be complimentary at the moment.

Who does she think she is – does she think that no one has asked me these questions before? Does she think that she is the first? The best? The nicest? I become aware that I am scowling and hurriedly force my face back to its customary blank mask. Even if her questions rankle, I don't want to offend her. I am in her debt – she organised that quite deviously – and she still hasn't given me the envelope yet.

I look down at the statement on the desk. It is so much closer to her hand than mine and it is infuriatingly, teasingly out of reach. _She might not be the first to ask these questions,_ I think, _but she is the first with something that I want_. I sigh. That sneaky, underhand, bitch of a doctor. She is buying the answers from me.

"Yes," I say in answer to her question. I'll give her this – she is patient. She nods.

"I'm not stupid. I've seen these sorts of scars before and I know that you wouldn't have told me anything if I didn't have this." She taps a slender finger on the envelope and my eyes fix on it. I drag my eyes away with an effort and she smiles at me. Fuck. Now I can't pretend that it isn't a big deal for me. "You probably don't even admit that they are there to yourself, do you?" I can't stop the heated glare I send her because that was a question too close to the bone. It called up a long forgotten ache that I am quite content in forgetting. Her face softens dramatically and I wonder what she sees in me.

"You have been so strong. I can see that." Oh, she's pitying me _and_ being condescending. How wonderful. "And I am so sorry if I have frightened you. I know that you hate me and that you won't be coming back here but I think I will trade you that right for one last question." She peers over at me, worry stamped like a hieroglyph on her forehead. "Are you safe where you are staying now?" I blink. Safe?

I think of Leroy and Hiram – loud and ostentatious – but actually incapable of hurting anything, like the spider I had to capture and release outside that they found in their bathroom. I think of Rachel, who was so distraught when she saw the little bruise on my wrist this morning, and of Puck and Dave, both helping me when I'd been hurt. I smile involuntarily. It's strange to know that these people I barely know are helping me but I know that they are just really good people.

"Yeah Doc. I'm safe." She relaxes into her chair and beams at me. I'm still angry at her, of course, because I hate to be manipulated and I don't like it when I am in someone's debt, but she is clever to have done this. And clever to know that I wouldn't have told her anything unless I was manipulated. Still, I don't like her.

"Wonderful. I must admit, I thought that you were because the scars are old but that didn't mean that you hadn't fallen in with someone else and being hurt, you see?" I nod. I did see. She was looking out for me. A strange thing to do, particularly on behalf of a stranger. "Well then, here you go." She hands the envelope over to me and I stand to take it. I don't quite snatch it from her but I don't hesitate at all. She grins.

I pause and turn the heavy envelope over in my hands slowly, letting my index finger trace the edges. "Thank you," I say quietly. She nods and the moment is over. I stuff the envelope in my bag, salute her lazily, and leave. Again, I don't _quite_ sprint from his office, but I do walk quite fast. I smile at the receptionist (who is so shocked that she pops her gum into her hair) and hop into my car.

Finally. Homeward bound.

**So there you have it folks. As usual, please take the time to review because I always love to hear what you think. Happy reading, readers :)**


	18. Chapter 18

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Eighteen**

**Glee is not mine. I just want to apologise for any 'unrealistic' stuff to do with the doctors statement. I'm not a doctor and I just made it up. Just go with it guys :)**

**Please enjoy.**

Among the strange things I expect when I arrive home are: Leroy requesting my assistance with either a) cooking dinner, b) a crossword, c) finding a book that he is _sure_ that he's left somewhere around here or d) finding his keys which are, more often than not, in his jacket pocket; Hiram needing advice on the colour scapes – well, not _needing_ so much as wanting my input because the study is, as he constantly says, going to be a room that the whole family can enjoy – and with finding his glasses so he can match them himself; Rachel watching 'Funny Girl' for the nineteen billionth time; and a family board game in progress (this might not seem strange but if you originally come from a very quiet family – read: negligent – and are not accustomed to it, the amount of noise that the Berry's make, particularly because Leroy and Rachel are divas and Hiram hates to lose, then it might seem as extreme to you as World War 3 as, indeed, it does to me) five times a month.

What I _don't _expect to find when I arrive home is to find that the demon cheerleader I had left there hours before is now seated at the dining table and, despite looking slightly uncomfortable, looks rather no worse for wear. I shoot a glare at Rachel. I can't help it – she's my sister! And, as such, supposed to me on _my_ side and have my back, not Quinn's! Rachel glares right back at me and I can easily read her. _Be nice_, she says. _Be nice, because I'm your precious, perfect little sister and a blood traitor and I'm siding with Quinn because she is sooo perfect and we'll be besties forever blah blah blah_. I may, perhaps, have taken some creative liberties with the translation from body language to print, but that's basically the gist of what she is saying.

Now that little, itsy-bitsy voice that I had mostly been able to quash when it yabbered on about Rachel this and Rachel that returns with a vengeance.

_Of course she doesn't have your back. Quinn has been a constant in her life for years now and, despite the fact that she is what some might call a 'bitch', Rachel likes and admires her. You, on the other hand, she has known for all of a month and a bit, you are strange, you take no care whatsoever in your appearance, not to mention the fact that the two of you have very little in common other than some physical features that can only be attributed to genetics._

I sigh. I hate it when my brain uses logic to make me hate myself. _Josephine Corcoran, you are here to help your little sister and to care for her and to help her excel whether or not she reciprocates these actions. You are the sister of Rachel Berry and, as such, you _will_ help her!_ I instantaneously react to my inner Shelby. My spine straightens and I shift so my weight is evenly distributed, my centre grounded. My face is an impassive mask of polite, but distant, interest. I can recall with no small amount of fondness the numerous (read: _numerous_) times I have been subjected to hour long rant and rave sessions where Shelby blathers on about this or that and I've used this mask. I'm fairly sure that she thinks this is actually how my face normally looks. Coolly interested.

Anyway, sorry about that. When I'm tired (and I really am tired at the moment – exhausted, you might say) I grab hold of a train of thought and follow it until it either exhausts itself or it finds its way merrily back to the original thought it had sprung from. The thought, in this case, being, 'Rachel is your perfect little sister and she wants you to be nice.'

I'm thankful for my above average intelligence because that utterly convoluted and tangled thought process took less than a minute to sort through. A minute in which I saw Quinn, glared at Rachel, was glared at by Rachel, put my 'that's so interesting, please tell me more so that I can continue to tell you that it is so interesting' nice face on, pulled out the chair opposite Quinn, and sat myself down.

"Jo!" Leroy beams at me. He and his husband return, from the kitchen I presume, with a plate of vegan cupcakes. He frowns apologetically at me. "I'm afraid we've eaten dinner already but we saved you some. It's in the fridge." I consider my faintly rumbling stomach and how desperately hungry I am and then my aching legs and I reassure him with a smile.

"Cupcakes are fine thanks Leroy. I ate while I was out." Lie. I keep the flush from my cheeks and the guilt from showing. I hate lying. I'd rather lie, though, than tell him that I don't think I can stand. He smiles at me but Hiram eyes me curiously for a few moments. I try not to think that he might be one of those human lie detector people and smile at him as well.

Quinn looks uncomfortable throughout dessert; this is no doubt because I am staring at her and stabbing my cupcake viciously (the poor thing is lying mangled on my plate). Finally she scoots her chair back and waves her phone weakly, using a 'text' as an excuse.

"This was lovely Mr Berry, Mr Berry, but my mother wants me home now." I frown. I thought she lived with Santana? My mind is really not functioning well right now. Leroy pouts and Hiram pats his husband's hand fondly (and with that little smile that lets everyone know that he thinks his husband is cute). They stand and, while they shake her hand and hug her and trade pleasantries, I clear the table and pop my dinner in the microwave. Yum. I smile down at the plate. Stir-fry. My favourite.

I sneak up to my room and ignore the disapproving looks of Rachel's dads when I pretend that Quinn isn't standing at the door. I close the door to my bedroom gently with my foot, balancing my bag and my dinner in my hands. For a moment I am tempted to drag my big, comfy armchair to my desk but I know that my body won't let me. Instead, I sit carefully on my study chair and pull out the statement that the good doctor gave to me. I play with the envelope, picking it up, turning it between my fingers, tapping it on the desk, and placing it down again as I eat my dinner. This is pretty good for an entirely vegan meal. Really, I didn't think that vegan substitutes could ever take the place of meat – and they don't – but they aren't too bad.

My mind scowls at me as I stubbornly continue to consider the meal and eat very slowly, savouring every bite. Do you know how confusing it can be for one half of your brain to really, really want to do something, and the other half to refuse to participate? I'll give you a hint: it is very confusing. I give in easily enough to the temptation of the envelope after I finish my meal, seeing as I didn't have any way to continue to refuse. Well, no logical reason to refuse.

I grip the envelope and slide a fingernail underneath the flap, and tug it open. 'To Whom it May Concern' blah blah blah. Technical jargon. Blah blah blah…more words, et cetera, et cetera – aha!

'It is the findings of this doctor that the patient – one Josephine Corcoran – has been brutally assaulted. Her extensive injuries, as listed above, are not to be ignored. The bruising is deep, conclusive of an assault of great force. There are numerous handprints indicative of the patient being restrained by two or more aggressors. It is the conclusion of this doctor that the patient Josephine Corcoran was attacked by a group of attackers, no less than three, and that those concerned should take into consideration the extent of the patients injuries.' More technical jargon, signature, name, signature, and that was it. I stare at it, hoping that this would be enough to at least suspend those arseholes.

A light tapping on my door jerks me from my thoughts and I hurry to stuff the statement back into the envelope, and the envelope onto my desk. "Come in," I call and Rachel steps into the room.

"Hey." I feel my lips tighten. I don't want to say anything that I will regret but the urge to do so is almost overwhelming.

"So," I say. The open-ended word succeeds in setting Rachel off in a frenzy to fill the uncomfortable silence.

"Quinn stayed for dinner," she blurts out. I roll my eyes.

"I saw that, yes." She smiles a little.

"Dad and Daddy really like her."

"Mm. Saw that too." I tilt my head to the side a little. Rachel is standing uncomfortably in the doorway, fiddling nervously with her Star of David necklace. I sigh. "Are you going to stand there all night or are you going to come in?" She smiles wider and closes the door and jumps onto my bed. She sees the envelope. I know that she does because her eyes light up in interest, but she doesn't ask to read it. I would have said no.

"So," I say again. "How exactly did you go from your icy disdain to having her stay for dinner?" I try and keep my voice level and humorous but, in all honesty, I'm a little bit pissed off and it is very hard to keep that out of my voice and my face and the lines of my body. She blushes and grabs one of my pillows to cover her face. She mumbles something into the pillowcase. "Sorry, what was that?" She murmurs a little louder, but it is still muffled by the pillow and I'm getting annoyed. I nudge her foot with mine. "What was that Rachel?"

"I _said_," she scowls, "that she apologised." I blink.

"She apologised," I repeat slowly. Rachel nods. "She _apologised_ and you forgave her." Rachel nods again, more slowly this time, and I grit my teeth. I don't bother pretending that I'm not pissed anymore. "You had no right to forgive her Rachel. What the hell is wrong with you?" Rachel looks shocked for a second before she turns angry as well.

"I didn't forgive her for hurting you, you stupid, self-obsessed woman." She stands and throws my pillow back to the head of the bed. No doubt she wants her hands free so she can gesture wildly and angrily like the petulant child she is. "I forgave her for hurting _me _for all this time. And for the record – on the topic of things people have no right doing, how about you tell me why you thought you could tell Quinn to apologise to me in the first place and maybe what you told her because I know that you said something to her and you have no right interfering in my life!" I jump to my feet at this, furious.

"Me? Interfere in _your_ life?" I am shaking. She has _no_ idea what I've done. "You self-centred little diva! You have no idea what you're talking about." At this point, we are both standing a good few metres apart – as far apart as we conceivably can, in fact. Normally, we would be in each other's face like we have all the other times we've fought, and shoving at each other a little, and screeching. This time, we are practically pushing ourselves against the walls in an effort to convince them to swallow us whole. Our voices aren't even considerably raised, but they are sharp and hurtful and hissed with spite. It's painful, this fight, more so than any others we've had. Still, I can feel Rachel's heated glare as I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath to calm myself. I don't want to say something I can't take back. _You've been ruining my life since the day you were born_, or the like. I don't want to say something immensely hurtful and not at all true, so instead I settle for slightly hurtful and very true.

"I gave up everything to come here and meet you! I think I should get a little leeway for asking someone to be nice to you, seeing as you seem to be incapable of making friends yourself!" Rachel makes a small wounded sound and takes a step back. "Maybe I should ask you why now all of a sudden you've decided that the Head Bitch should know that I'm your sister." Rachel gapes.

"How do you know she knows?" I glare at her.

"How do I know? I know because her lackey Satan got a text and has absolutely no qualms in telling everyone. Do you even _think_ before you do something?" Rachel colours slightly but doesn't speak. "No, I didn't think so. You just take everything into your stride because you can appreciate the drama of it and you don't think. You don't think about the fact that you just gave your biggest enemies another thing to roll with." I shake my head and I can already feel myself deflating, my angry fading. I can't blame her for being exactly who she is. Well, I can but there would be no point. "You know what? Whatever Rachel. I just hope that you can deal with everyone knowing that I'm your sister." I sit back down on the chair and don't bother to hide the wince. It hurts, okay? My whole body hurts and it serves her right to see that it if she's decided that the one that did it is now her new best friend.

"They aren't my enemies exactly and they aren't bad people." She isn't angry either, not anymore, just sad. "I'm sorry that you can't see that bad people aren't just bad people – they are sad or confused or angry or rebellious for a whole bunch of reasons." I duck my head. I know that. I just don't like to believe it. "Quinn isn't a bad person. She has just been indoctrinated by her own father's hatred and Santana isn't just a bitch. She is a closeted lesbian and she also has to protect Brittany from all the dicks at our school who would upset her because she doesn't think the say way most people do." I don't even blink at Rachel's swearing (though she doesn't usually use expletives) because it isn't a swear word in this context. They really are just dicks. There isn't another word that can be used to describe them.

"Still, I should have asked you first." I glance up at Rachel from beneath my lashes. I can't raise my head. I'm too tired. She has sat herself down on my bed again and I jerk my head and shrug my shoulders in that little motion that is both 'yes you should have' and 'don't worry about it'. "I'm sorry." Damn her for sounding so pitiable.

"Rach," I say. "Stop it. It's fine. I was just shocked when Santana knew, okay? It's your school life after all. It's yours to mess up." She frowns at me.

"No one is going to tease me for you being my sister. In fact, it can only help my standing. You are a very popular person." I search her eyes for any sign of a lie but relax. She seems to be telling the truth.

"Alright then. It's your call," I say with a shrug. She hesitantly meets my eyes again and gives me a watery smile when she sees that I'm no longer angry with her.

"I am sorry that you were frightened when Santana knew. It's just…Quinn was sitting right there in front of me and it was so surreal with her being nice to me in my own room and she asked me who you were and I just blurted it out before I could think about it." She shakes her head. "Damn her. She could get anything out of me." She scowls. "She just looks at me with those eyes and raises that eyebrow and I start rambling and explaining myself. It's not fair!" She kicks her foot and I chuckle because I know that, had she been standing, it would have been a little foot stamp.

She sighs. "I've wanted to be her friend for so long and I've worked so hard for it and I guess," she shrugs. "I was just upset with you that I've tried for years and then a month after you come along she's happy to be my friend. It just hurt that I couldn't do it myself." I nod. That would suck.

"How long?" She leans heavily against my shoulder and I consider re-informing her that I _am_ injured, thank you very much, but I don't. This is a crisis – friendships always are, or so I've heard. Physical pain, therefore, is to be expected. "Rach?" I nudge her with my elbow. "How long have you wanted to be her friend?"

"Since forever," she sighs. "In first grade I met this angel. Her name was Lucy." I frown. Who the fuck cares? We are talking about _Quinn_. I let her continue though. "She walked through the doorway holding her Daddy's hand and she was so cute and I said to myself that we were going to be best friends forever. And then she stole my favourite crayon." Rachel scowls at her hands. "She avoided me after second grade and then in middle school she stopped being Lucy and she became Quinn – the most popular girl in school and she avoided me even more. At first," she says with a very serious expression, "I thought it was because I knew that she had been Lucy and no one else knew, but then," her fingers tighten on mine, "in freshman year she started being really horrid to me. In sophomore year everything turned around when she joined Glee and at times she would look at me and smile and I was so _happy_ because I was enjoying being her friend and being recognised as the best singer." A little thought sparks in my head but it is so outrageous that I ignore it completely. I focus on my sister again.

"And then she was pregnant and I-" I stop her.

"Wait, wait. What? Pregnant?" Rachel nods.

"Yes, pregnant." I gape at her.

"As in, impregnated? With child?" Rachel sighs.

"_Yes_ Jo. She was _pregnant_." I whistle.

"Damn! She looks great for a girl who has a kid!" Rachel slaps my hand and I wince a little. Ouchie. Thank god she is so weak; I don't want any more blemishes.

"Jo!" Rach sniffs in a holier-than-thou kind of way at my comment and turns her head away, silently threatening not to tell me any more if I continue to be so crude. I wipe the smirk away and plaster a contrite expression on my face.

"I'm sorry Rach. Please continue." She holds her pose for a while longer but the temptation to continue is overwhelming and she spins back around and continues, after giving me a warning glare.

"Well, as I was saying, she was pregnant and she told everyone it was Finn's because they were dating at the time and-"

"You are dating a _dad_? Rachel that is so wrong!" Rachel scowls at me.

"Okay, shut up." I open my mouth to argue my point – because that is so wrong! – but she slaps her little hand over my lips and points a finger at me threateningly. "No. Shut up. Really. I am telling you a story and it is about time that you listened and let me finish. Now, either you be quiet or I will duct tape your mouth shut." I frown but she stands, moves over to my desk, and grabs the tape from it. "Do I need to use it?" I shake my head sheepishly and mime zipping my mouth closed. She nods in victory.

"Alright then." She crinkles her forehead a little as she regains her place in the story and then nods again. She sits cross-legged on the bed and grabs one of my pillows to hug to her stomach. I mimic her, sans pillow, and she smiles.

"So, Quinn told everyone that the baby was Finn's but it was actually Noah's and-" I open my mouth, outraged, but she scowls and holds up the tape threateningly. I settle back but I'm not happy about it. "I found out what she had done and I told Finn and he was furious and I went to Quinn and apologised and I said that she could hit me if she wanted to as long as she avoided my nose but she declined." I gape at her.

"So…you want to be friends with her because she is beautiful and because she didn't hit you? Rach, no offence, but that is a really crappy reason to want to be someone's friend!" Rach rolls her eyes.

"I want to be her friend because she is strong and clever and wonderful as _well_ as breathtakingly gorgeous, not because she didn't hit me." The same thought occurs to me again at her words and this time I don't ignore it. Could it be? But she is still talking. "She carried that baby to term even though her parents threw her out and even though Finn threw her out when he found out that he wasn't the father," _when you told him_, I mouth, but she ignores me. "She was scared and alone and she still did the right thing by that little baby and _that_ is why she is strong and that is why I want to be her friend." Rachel is breathing heavily from the force of her defending Quinn and I smile at her. I pat her hand gently.

"That's real nice kiddo." My mind is racing, difficult in my exhausted state. From everything Rachel is saying…it sounds like she is in love with Quinn and I doubt that she even realises it. Strangely, Rachel yanks her hands away from me and slumps over the pillow, putting her head in her hands.

"Quinn is amazing," she whines, "and I'm so not! Why would she ever be friends with someone like me? I'll just pull her down." I shrug.

"Maybe she is in love with you?" I muffle a groan when she whacks me thoughtlessly. _Ouch._ I deserved that. I pat her on the shoulder. I'm just trying to look on the bright side of things, which is kind of difficult if you haven't had much practise with it, or been taught to be optimistic. Maybe it's an outlook you are born with.

"Oh shut up Jo. Just…don't." I pout. I thought it was a rather good and optimistic outlook for her to have but Rach isn't convinced. "Quinn is Head Cheerleader! She is the best candidate for Prom Queen this year and everyone loves her. I'm the lowest of the low. I'm Rachel Berry, the school loser." I hum in agreement and she jerks her head up, eyes blazing. "You are _supposed_ to reassure me!" I smirk.

"Rach, you _are_ the school loser. Even that gross reporter boy is above you in the school hierarchy." She moans in defeat and flops back onto the bed. She curls into the foetal position and pulls the pillow over her face. I tug it away. "Oh stop being so dramatic. Listen to me." She shakes her head childishly and plugs her ears with her fingers. I grab her hands out of her ears and give her a little shake. "_Listen_ to me. It's not that bad. She came here, right?" Rachel nods. "And she genuinely apologised?" She nods again. "Well then – either she actually wants you to be her friend or she wants something from you." Rachel scowls but it is my sisterly duty to prepare her for that possible outcome. "Personally, and this is hard for me to say, I think that she actually wants to be your friend. She had dinner with you and your dads tonight, right? And sat through dessert while I was massacring my cupcake?" Rachel smiles a little. "Look. The way I see it, you have a few options."

I wait until I know that she is listening. "Option One – you can forget all about Quinn or having friends, graduate, and become the Broadway Star we all know that you will become." She scowls a little at the 'forgetting Quinn' part but is reassured that she will be a star. She doesn't say anything so I assume that plan doesn't fully appeal. I continue. "Option two – you can pine after every single one of these Lima Losers who won't give you the time of day and fail your classes because you are depressed and fail to rise above this pettiness and it won't change a thing and you'll never be anything more than a Broadway wannabee singing in your room and posting videos while you work days at the Pottery Barn." She stares at me, wide-eyed, in horror, now sitting bolt upright. I shrug. "That's one of my worst case scenarios but we are just spit balling here. Option three," I gently tilt her head up and meet her eyes. This one is going to hurt but I know that even if it doesn't work and Quinn doesn't actually want to be her friend she will be a better person for it.

"Option three – you stop being a defiant wuss and you change a few things about yourself and then you climb that stupid school ladder and show that whole god forsaken school that you are so much better than every one of them and you are sure as hell worth paying attention to and you _force_ Quinn to pay attention to you and then you become besties and you both go to New York together and you become a Broadway star and she goes to college and does whatever it is she wants to do and you live happily ever after."

Rachel blinks at me a few times and I wait patiently. I think she's overwhelmed. "Writing." I frown. "She wants to do writing in college."

"Oh. Okay, whatever. That wasn't really the point of my story but-" I stop and look down at my sleeve. She is gripping it tight and her hands are clenched so hard they are bone white and stiff like talons. I swallow. "Rach?"

"I want that," she rasps when she finally regains cognitive function. She tugs slightly. "Option three – I _want_ that." Her eyes are wide and gleaming with desperation. Her nostrils flare a little. I roll my own eyes. Trust Rachel to go overboard with the feelings and sappy stuff and spend five minutes in her own head dreaming about the wonderful future she will have with her little cheerleading bitch as her new best friend (or lover?). Erg. Gross. _Feelings_. I'm drawn back to pay attention to my sister when her fingernails dig into my skin. She is now determined.

"What do I have to do? Tell me what I have to do! You said I have to change things about myself – what are they?" I pull myself free and lay my hands on her shoulders.

"Relax kiddo, this can wait until the morning." She shrugs me away violently.

"No! You don't understand. You were probably really popular at your school and you can't possibly understand how awful it is to be bullied _every day_ at school by _everyone_. Everyone hates me!" Her face is stripped of whatever composure she usually has, raw emotion seeping through the cracks, and I am decidedly uncomfortable. Of all the things I thought Rachel and I might bond over, it was never this. I might not have liked Rachel while I grew up but I would never have wished this on her. "I need you to help me Jo because I don't want to be that person anymore. I want to be happy. Please," she grips my hand. "Please help me." I swallow.

"Right. Yeah." I quash my need for sleep and roll my shoulders. I grab a notebook and a pen and smile at her. "Okay. This is what we are going to do."

Together we start the list and plan well into the night.

**Okay guys, there you go. I hope you enjoyed it and please, as always, take the time to leave a review. I'd love to hear ideas and compliments. Flattery gets you everywhere. A challenge for you: I know that there are 93 (wow!) followers of my story, but I would love a review from all of you! Happy reading, Readers :)**


	19. Chapter 19

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Nineteen**

**Glee is not mine. **

**A treat for y'all. Rachel's Point of View – isn't this exciting? Yay :)**

RACHEL POV

I never want this list out of my sight. Ever. This is the one thing I hope can help me become a real person to the students of McKinley, rather than just a freak. It isn't a long list – four, five points maximum – which I am grateful for. I'm not sure how I would deal with having to change everything about myself, or with knowing that my own sister wanted me to change everything about myself, in order to cater to the social pressures of high school. That's a lie. I know how I would react. I would react as I always have. I would ignore everyone else and continue on exactly as I have been for the entirety of my senior years. The only reason I'm not doing that now is because of Jo. I clearly recall her reassuring me in the bathroom on the first day of school but it didn't really help. I know that people don't like man but I just don't know _why_. I quite like me. Jo says she likes me as well but, if we made a few minor tweaks, a lot more people would like me. She is the only reason I am doing this. Not because of the almost overwhelming desire to have friends and to be recognised as a _person_ rather than a thing to be mocked and abused.

I exit my room and pause at the top of the stairs, just outside Jo's line of sight. She is so weird. She is leaning casually against the front door, arms crossed, as she does every morning when she waits to take me to school. She's dressed, as she always in, in dark clothes. Dark jeans, a dark, long-sleeved shirt, a dark jacket. I can't tell what she's thinking but I know that she is. Thinking, that is. She is always thinking.

I consider her for a short moment, thinking about all the things I know about my sister. I make a list in my mind. 'Things I Know About Jo'. Not my best working title but it will do. Number One: She is everything I wanted her to be and more. Beautiful, kind, and intelligent. (The 'more' in that is slightly mysterious. I don't mean that I can't tell anyone what it is, I mean that what is 'more' about her is that she is slightly mysterious.) The moment I met her I knew that she was different. It was in her eyes – they are quite expressive. She thinks carefully about everything and, while she makes it seem like she makes snap judgements and decisions, I know that she weighs and measures and observes before doing anything.

Number Two: She likes me. I had, of course, hoped that my newly discovered half-sibling would like me but I am aware that I have a predisposition to frightening people away due to my predilection to long words and for constant singing.

Number Three: She complements me well. She is generally quiet, perfect for countering my volume and incessant chatter. She likes to listen. She is also assertive enough to shut me up when she needs/wants to.

Number Four: She is odd. There is no getting around that one. She is awake at strange hours and she reads _all the time_. Textbooks, non-fiction books, fiction, cookbooks, journals – everything. She can fight (why can she fight?) and she is unusually strong and fit and quick. She is on her guard all the time and she never talks about herself but she is always happy to talk to me about me and my hobbies (singing, dancing, acting) and my dreams (Broadway: singing, dancing, acting) and the things I do to relax (singing, dancing, acting).

Number Five: She doesn't talk about her family. I presume this is because she is worried about inadvertently mentioning her – _our_ – mother. Dad and Daddy gave her a big lecture about that on the night she arrived and I doubt that she has even entertained the thought since then.

Number Six: She loves teaching Brittany and likes teaching the others and for a time I thought she would like to be a teacher but when I asked her she crinkled her nose and gagged. She won't tell me what she does want to do though. I will have to get that out of her…

"Rachel? Holy Jew! You are talking _ages_." I smirk. Number Seven: She is impatient sometimes. I saunter to the top of the stairs and glare down at her.

"Calm down _Josephine_. I was just thinking." I smile when she looks nervous.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to." I race down the stairs and fling my arms around her neck. (Don't worry. She has assured me that she is mostly healed from her role as punching bag to the Goons.) Number Eight: She is getting better at hugging. She was really bad at it and stood stiffly while I hugged her but now she hugs me back.

"I do want to do this. I was just thinking about _you_ silly." I squeeze her a little in my hug but she stills.

"What about me?" Her tone is guarded.

"Just that it has been exactly six weeks and four days since you arrived here to the minute…now." She glances at her watch and blink in that slow, thoughtful way of hers. After a few seconds she nods.

"So it is." She smirks and runs a hand through her hair, adopting a ridiculous pose. "And what else did you think of me? Maybe how undeniably attractive I am?" I roll my eyes. Number Nine: She is seriously vain sometimes. "No, no – wait, let me guess. You adore my natural wit and charm." I shake my head, smiling up at her.

"I was _thinking_ that you are a little weird," her face falls a fraction, "and you read a lot," she smiles and pats her jacket pocket – no doubt she has one of those little books in it, "and that you are the best sister ever." I'm not usually like this. I'm usually very composed and mature. I've had to be – my dads work a lot and I'm an only child so I've had to look after my self quite a bit, not to mention the fact that I am by myself a lot at school as well. It is only since Jo arrived that I've become like this – slightly childish. I can't help it. She is the perfect big sister (though occasionally she takes it to extremes with protecting me) and I want to let her take that place, even though I am almost an adult. I want to be her little sister. Especially because Noah has informed me that being a big brother (I have extrapolated that it is similar for a big sister) means that you have to protect your little sister and make them feel better, no matter how much you would prefer to be playing x-box. I need that. I've _needed_ that. But she wasn't there when I needed her so I suppose I regress a little while I'm in her presence. She doesn't seem to mind. I like it. I've always wanted someone wholly mine who will love me despite everything. And, well, maybe a little closer in age than Dad or Daddy. And now I have Jo and she is _perfect_.

Jo just rolls her eyes at my words and slings my bag over her shoulder, striding out of the house. "Come along kiddo," she ruffles my hair. I hate and love it. Hate fixing my hair, love the attention and the way she smiles when she does it. "Let's go to the mall!"

The mall, when we get there, is practically empty. Jo frowns. "Why is the mall empty?" Number Ten: She always says exactly what she is thinking. I like that about her.

"Probably 'cause it's nine on a Saturday and normal people are _asleep_." Noah groans and leans heavily on Jo who shoves him away. Oops, I forgot to mention him. He came too.

"Buck up laddie boy. You'll get to see Rachel in all of her new clothes." Puck (I refuse to call him Noah when he is less than the gentleman I know him to be) straightens quickly and gives me a lecherous slow smile. I smack him on the arm. "Then again," Jo grins at him, all of her teeth bared in a dangerous smile, "if you do anything inappropriate you will find yourself missing your most highly esteemed appendage." Noah pales and moves so that I am in between him and Jo. "That's what I thought." She nods and leads our expedition into the mall.

"So, what are we doing here anyway?" Noah munches on a pretzel Jo bought for him after the ten minutes of shopping. He started complaining after about three seconds.

"Noah!" I stamp my foot. "I've explained this numerous times already." His eyes glaze over and I clink in front of his face. "Noah!" I'll admit that it was a bad idea to talk to him about anything when he was playing x-box but he usually agrees to anything when he's distracted by the pretty, flashing lights so it was a good idea in theory. I needed him to carry our bags. I sigh. "Noah!" He focuses on me and I say slowly, "we are here to buy a new wardrobe for me." He throws his hands up in frustration.

"Then _go to Ikea_. Duh. Even I know that we are looking in the wrong shops for that." He rolls his eyes and Jo, behind him, is shaking her head slowly in wonderment. I shake my head as well before explaining.

"Noah, I meant that we are looking for a whole new wardrobe of clothes. Clothes to go in my wardrobe. I have hardly anything since Jo took everything. Oh, speaking of that, I was hoping to take them to Goodwill. Can I have them back?" Jo just shakes her head and Noah barks a laugh. I have the feeling that they are hiding something from me. "Jo? Why not?" She grins broadly.

"I suppose, technically, you can't have them back because we had a huge bonfire and we might have, perhaps-"

"-completely by accident-" Noah chimes in,

"-set fire to your clothes." They look completely unrepentant. I gape at these people I (obviously wrongly) have called my friends.

"You _burnt_ them?" Jo smiles but Noah winces.

"And those hideous penny loafers."

"I liked them!" I shriek. Jo shrugs.

"Too bad."

"Jo!"

"Rachel!" She mimics and ruffles my hair _again_. "Relax. No one would have bought them from Goodwill and, if they did, well…I'm just doing them a favour. Plus, I doubt that the store would have accepted any of your clothes. They were disgusting and didn't suit you at all." I sigh. That's true. She stops suddenly in the centre of the arcade and looks around at the stores. "Okay kiddies –we need a game plan." She crouches a little and slings an arm around our shoulders. "Game plan is this: by the time we are finished shopping today, Rachel's wardrobe will consist of flattering clothes and clothes that give her confidence. She will not have any fugly clothes or anything that makes her look like the dark fantasy of a perverted Japanese businessman." She grins widely at that. She's used the phrase ten times, or a variation thereof, since I told her was Santana had said last time I changed my wardrobe.

"How are we supposed to find clothes like that?" Jo blinks – her version of faltering – before nodding quickly.

"Good question Noah. This is how. Picture the clothes that the popular girls at school wear." I nod. Got it. We both (me and Jo) whack Noah over the back of the head to dislodge the slightly glazed-over look Noah is directing over our heads. He grins at us. "Okay, well, think about those and then cross-check that with the list of clothes that you would actually wear and then, easy-peasy, you have the clothes that you should wear." I don't say anything for a long moment and Noah nods slowly.

"That actually makes sense." Jo frowns at us.

"Of course it does," she says flippantly. "I'm very intelligent."

We go into store after store. I am having the time of my life. Bag after bag is piled onto Noah who patiently takes them to the car, returns, and does it all over again. My meagre savings are fortified by my father's accounts but I suddenly notice that Jo is paying with a card I don't recognise.

"Jo?"

"Rachel?" Moses but she does that a lot. Mimicking me.

"Is that your card?" She looks down at her wallet and back up at me.

"No? That is why I keep it in my purse and why I am using it." She says slowly in her teasing voice.

"Dad said that he would pay for everything today."

"Yes, but he should really only pay for the essentials. I'll pay for everything else." She must recognise my slightly stubborn look because she smiles. "Rach, I have plenty of money. Just let my spoil my little sister, okay?" Damn her! She knows I can't resist when she calls me 'little sister'.

As the day wears on, I find that, according to Jo, the 'essentials' are one pair of jeans and two tops. I doubt that she would have even let Dad pay for that if I hadn't been watching her closely. She paid for the rest. I wonder exactly how much 'plenty' of money is. I hope that she isn't bankrupting herself for me. However much it is, she refuses to listen to me when I ask her to let Dad pay for anything else.

We break for lunch at two o'clock (time passes quickly when you are fashion goddesses – and a fashion pack mule, thank you Noah) and we spend another hour after that looking at shoes before we head on home. We drop Noah off with another thank you and he disappears, bleary-eyed and exhausted, into his house, mumbling something about 'never again' and 'Mom, help me'.

I'm exhausted as well but Jo evidently has reverses of energy because she insists that we put away all of my new clothes and then sits down on the bed with her 'we have to talk' face. Evidently, there is more work yet to be done.

"Okay Rach. Point One of 'The List' – shopping for awesome clothes – is complete. Now, on to Point Two." I can't help it. I stiffen in my place and slowly lower the pair of jeans that I'm holding. I know what Point Two is and I had hoped that we wouldn't broach it at all. I'm dreading it. "What's point two Rach?" She asks me. I don't move for the list, currently residing in my back pocket. She is being mean – she knows what the point is. She just wants me to say it.

"Singing," I mumble.

"What was that?" I glower at her.

"Singing!" She nods.

"Oh yes, that's right. Now, you think that you are the best at singing-"

"I _am_ the best at singing."

"Shut up." She sounds amused and, after a short moment, concedes my point with a smile. "Fine. You _are_ the best at singing but still, shut up. This is what you have to do if you want Quinn to fall," she clamps her mouth shut and shakes her head. Her fingers start a tap-tapping on her leg, something she only does when she is nervous. I frown. What was she going to say? "Sorry. This is what you have to do if you want Quinn to fall…into the trap of your awesomeness." She winces slightly and I frown even more deeply. That was the worst cover up for saying something she didn't mean to say that I had ever heard. "If you want Quinn and everyone else to like you then you have to listen to me, okay?" I nod reluctantly. I know that she is infinitely more experienced and popular than I am. It's something in the way that she carries herself – confident, self-assured, not needing to prove anything.

"You won't sing in school except for in Glee. You can practise with me three days a week and yourself all you want but you do _not_ sing in class at school. Understood?"

"But-"

"No. No buts, unless it is the butt in those fabulous new jeans belonging to the person called Rachel who is only saying at the moment 'yes Jo, I understand Jo, and I will listen to you and only sing in the designated time frames." I stamp my foot and fold my arms over my chest.

"But I _don't_ understand! Can't you explain to me why I'm not allowed to sing at school? I always sing." This is so confusing. I am amazing at singing – surely everyone can appreciate that?

"Yes, and people hate you." Apparently not. My sister isn't really pulling any punches when it comes to telling me how it is. Usually, I appreciate the characteristic of brutal honesty – I employ it myself – but at the moment it just seems, well, _brutal_. "The kids at school don't want to hear you sing for a number of reasons. One, it is very distracting when you sing or hum in class. I know that because Britt and I sit at the back of your English class and I have been tempted to throw things at you."

"That's you?" I take everything nice I've said about her back. She is the worst sister ever. Jo just smiles and nods, leaning casually back onto _my_ bed.

"If you are talking about the paper planes, then yes. Well, the first one was me. The rest of them were Brittany's. I taught her how to make them and she was having fun. In her defence, she didn't mean for them to hit you." I scowl at Jo but it has no apparent effect. She just shrugs. "What? It made you shut up, didn't it? I was helping you." She forces her face back into its professional mode and I slump, defeated. I sit on my bed. I should at least be comfortable while all my flaws are being picked over and exposed.

"Reason number two: you don't sing anything that people, um" Jo's face goes carefully blank. I recognise it as stark terror and she takes a deep breath before whispering, "like." I blink. She hurriedly continue. "You don't sing anything people can identify will, that's all."

I can feel my nostrils flare and Jo recoils. "That is utter nonsense! I sing _Barbara! _" I tighten my lips. "She is an _icon_," I stress, "and a goddess of musical genius. Everyone can identify with her music."

"Nope." Jo shakes her head. I gape at her. It…it's _Barbara_. How can they not identify with her music? "They can't and they won't kiddo."

"_Savages_!" I was going to call them 'barbarians' but that has Barbara's name in it and they don't deserve to be associated with her.

"Listen, Rach, maybe if we work on your repertoire of popular music I will rescind my ban singing. Or at least not enforce it as strictly." Until then, no singing because, and this is reason number three, when you sing you bring attention to yourself." I feel a little dumbfounded still, at the thought that Barbara isn't popular. I mean, I know that the Glee kids don't like it when I sing Barbara but I thought that was because then they couldn't…I answer Jo numbly.

"Well, yes. That's the point." Jo shakes her head.

"Perhaps that is why you do it but, until your standing in the school is improved, all you are doing is making a very loud target of yourself." I blink. I hadn't thought of that. Though it _would_ explain why the bullies had such ease in finding me.

"Oh."

"Indeed." We are both still for a few moments. Me, because I am absorbing all that she has said and Jo presumably because she is letting me absorb it. It's all fairly straightforward. It makes complete sense but I still don't like it. I _sing_. That's what I do. But, if it will make life easier then I don't see why I shouldn't give it a go.

"Point Three, Rach?" Jo says. I nod. I'm ready. "Alright then. Your attitude." I lied. I'm not ready. I fling myself sideways onto my bed and curl into a ball.

"What's wrong with my attitude?" I can _feel_ the smirk she gives me and I turn my head a little to the side so I can glare at her.

"Well, for one thing, you are very dramatic. Secondly, you think that you are God's gift to humanity, that you are better than everyone else at singing, if not at everything, and that you are entitled to tell everyone how they can improve."

I frown. "But…I _am_ better than everyone else." I sit up straight so that I can stare up at her without any pain in my neck. "I work harder than anyone else and I take an immense amount of pride in my results, and I like to help people. Why on earth should I hide the fact that I am brilliant?" Jo purses her lips.

"That's a good point." She coughs hesitantly. "Do I, um, do I have to explain to you that other people have feelings?"

"Oh shut up! I know people have feelings!"

"Then the answer should be obvious. No one wants to hear you say that you are better than they are. They like to think that they are brilliant as well."

"So how does that make them any different to me?" This is so _confusing_. "They are exactly the same as me except that they _think_ they are brilliant and I _know_ that I am." Jo doesn't say anything for a few seconds and I think that I have her stumped but I slowly realise that she is just taking the time to format her thoughts.

"The difference is that they don't say anything about the fact that they suspect they are brilliant. They know that it would hurt other people's feelings." I open my mouth to tell her that the only way to learn is to accept that someone else is better and to learn from them but she holds up a hand and her expression begs me to let her continue. I do. "Think of it like this. In glee, you shouldn't immediately rattle off everything that was wrong with, say, Mercedes performance. You would compliment her first and then, after Glee, you would take her aside and compliment her again and then ask her if she would like you to make a few points about her performance. You would do this _politely_."

"I am always polite," I say with a sniff.

"Evidently not," she says dryly. "If you were always polite, people would be less inclined to drown you with frozen beverages." I pout. That was mean. "Rach, what I'm trying to say is," she struggles with her words for a few seconds. "Okay. Okay, here goes – you are brash, loud, and self-important with your advice and compliments." I flinch. Is that really what she thinks of me?

"Oh." Her gaze softens and she takes my hand.

"I'm sorry Rach, but it's true. I'm not telling you this because I hate you. Far from it." She squeezes my hand tightly and tilts her head to the side. Her eyes – so expressive – are pleading with me to understand her. "I'm telling you this because I want you to have friends. You are such an amazing person, Rachel Barbara Berry, and I want you to be friends with anyone you choose. It's just that if you don't hear this from me, you will hear it from someone else or, heaven forbid, you'll never learn and you will become a terrible diva and your attitude will precede you and no one will want to hire you."

"The diva attitude is worth dealing with for talent like mine." I tilt my head up stubbornly and she immediately reaches over and tugs it down. She holds my eyes with hers and shakes her head slowly.

"No it isn't. I've worked in the musical theatre business since I was seven Rach. There are so many great talents out there and with work you will be one of them but we don't hire the ones that treat others like shit – intentionally or otherwise." I frown and her grip tightens almost painfully. A warning. "_Listen _to me Rach. If you have your talent as well as a good reputation you are far more likely to be selected for the role of, say, Fanny Brice." I glare at her. Damn her for making a logical argument. It's true. While my talent would be more important than any attitude I might have, I will be more likely to be hired with a pleasing attitude. That's just the way it goes.

"That…might be true." I offer and she nods. That's another thing I really like about Jo. She says something, lets me accept it, and then moves on. She doesn't gloat. Still, this is supremely depressing. If what she says is true then I will never be hired. People hate me.

"Chin up Rach. We can work on all of this." Another thing I like. She reads me easily. I lift my chin like she said and focus intently on my sister. I need to listen. I need to do this right. I _will_ be Fanny Brice and I _will_ have friends. Failure is not an option – not for Rachel Barbara Berry.

"Okay then. Back to my example. You've taken Mercedes aside and asked her if she wants to talk to you about her performance." I nod. "What if she doesn't want your advice?" I frown.

"Well, I'd tell her anyway. It is highly inadvisable to refuse any points that are made by a singer of a higher standard than you. She would benefit greatly from my expertise." I nod to emphasise my point. Surely Jo can see that.

She cuffs my head lightly. "Wrong!" She makes a buzzing noise and I can feel my face fall. How can that possibly be wrong? "If she doesn't want your adive then you just say something like 'well, I'm always happy to discuss it and your performance was excellent' and then you walk away. Oh," she adds, "you have to _mean_ the compliment that you give them, okay?"

"Yes." I nod. That I understand. I am a fantastic actress but compliments are very difficult to deliver unless you mean them.

"Good. Now, the only difference is if you have taken written notes. You can give these to the performer if they have declined to talk to you and say 'your performance was excellent and these are my notes. I hope that you find them helpful.' And remember, in the notes, constructive criticism only." I frown. I _know_ that.

"Of course." The disbelieving set of her mouth and eyes makes me suddenly furious. "I know that Jo! I have an immensely high regard for all art forms and I am well aware that beginners should never be insulted. You _offend_ me," I hiss, "if you think that I would insult anyone for their errors."

"I'm sorry Rach." She says it immediately and without prompting, without event the tiniest hesitation. She means it. I would know – it is almost impossible to fake that level of sincerity. "You have to understand that sometimes your constructive criticism comes across as insulting." I pause.

"It does?"

"Yeah. You are very blunt and criticism should always be handled tactfully and delicately if you don't want to offend – and especially if you want to befriend them."

"So," I say hesitantly, "I don't say something like 'you have a lovely voice that is occasionally sharp but only because you are lacking my years of training'?" Her eyes sharpen.

"Who did you say that to?"

I sigh. "Quinn."

My sister, the traitor, muffles a snigger. "No, I don't think that you made a friend there. It must have been something else that you said that made her l…like you." There was an odd hitch in her speech but I ignored it. All this information – I feel like I am on the brink of something important.

"I see." She smiles and claps her hands.

"Alright then! So, what have you learnt so far?"

I frown. "That you burnt my clothes," she waves her hand dismissively, "that I shouldn't sing outside singing class because it distracts people and makes me a target," she nods, "that I should never give advice to a fellow performer immediately." I stop. "Why is that?"

"Oh, because they might think that you are trying to embarrass them." I nod. That makes sense. Why didn't I think of that before? "Anything else?"

"Be tactful with my advice?" She nods. "And always compliment them." She nods again.

"Great! Okay, the final point. Confidence." My smile widens. This was one point I didn't understand but I'm not worried about it. Does she want me to be less confident? I am an immensely confident person and that is something I have never had trouble with. I say so.

"I am a very confident person, Jo." Jo nods, eyes slightly troubled.

"And _when_ are you confident?" I blink. I don't know what she means but the words 'I don't know rarely come from my mouth. I will attempt the answer at least. I consider the question. When am I confident?

"Well, in rehearsal I suppose, and on stage. Singing, dancing, or acting." She nods.

"Why?" I open my mouth, frowning. Why? Why what?

"I…don't know." Dang. My brow furrows in thought. What does she want me to say?

"There is no 'right' answer to this Rachel. I just want you to think this through." I sigh. Okay. Why am I confident in rehearsal and on stage?

"I suppose it is because I practise. I am completely confident in Glee and on stage because I know what I'm doing."

"That is part of it." Jo shift on the bed. "When you practise your dancing or your singing, it makes you confident because you are comfortable with what you are doing. You are confident here with me," she gestures around the room, "and with Puckerman because you are comfortable with you and you can be yourself. But in school and in social situations?" She runs a hand through her hair. "You aren't confident at all."

"What? Of course I'm confident!" What on earth is she talking about? "I am no wallflower. I say what I think and I am completely able to hold a conversation with anyone." She is shaking her head. "I don't understand." This is so frustrating!

"Rach, you aren't confident at all. Yes, you say what you think but think about they way you say it. Like I said before, brash, loud. Unforgiving. Opinionated. You are terrified that people won't listen to you so you push and push until they do." She says these blunt words in a woundingly delicate manner. She doesn't want to hurt me; she just wants to make sure that I understand. It does hurt though. "If you want to go anywhere in this world you will need to be confident in everything you do. You can't let people tear you down. You are wonderful, kind, intelligent, talented, and funny person and you need to remember that when you are with people you think are better than you." My mind immediately supplies _Quinn, Santana, Brittany, _and numerous other girls.

"They are very beautiful," I remark softly. Jo clicks her tongue, annoyed.

"Maybe they are. But so are you." I nod. My morning workout is successful. I am toned and fit and my mother has given me, us, very good genes. "You just have to remember that you are your own person and that you are destined for greatness – but that doesn't mean that your opinion is the only one that counts and that you shouldn't listen to other people." I nod again. That also makes sense. I have been wrong on more than one occasion and I am used to listening to people. It's just so hard when so many people are so stupid.

"Now, I'm sure that you've noticed that you have so much more fun on the holidays,"

"They are _holidays_, Jo. I'm supposed to have more fun."

"And on the weekends," she continues like I hadn't interrupted at all, "when it is just me and you and Puckerman and your Dads. What changes between home and school?" I know the answer to this one.

"Well, at school I have to prove myself. Everyone thinks that I am a nobody. At home I am Noah's friend and your sister and I know that Dad and Daddy love me."

Jo nods. "See? Confidence." I sig. My sister can be a little silly sometimes, despite her intelligence.

"No, Jo. That is _safety_," I say slowly.

"No," she says equally slowly. "That is _confidence_. You are sure of yourself because you know that we want you here. If you can just tap into that, how you act at home, and do that at school then I assure you that everyone will notice exactly how awesome you are. At the very least, you that that Puckerman and I will appreciate that you don't fluctuate between awesome Rachel and scary, uptight, school Rachel. And," she adds, "Dave will learn to appreciate it." I frown at her but she just grins. After a moment I nod. I am slightly uptight at school.

"Oh, one last thing." I groan. I don't think I can take much more of this "You definitely need to relax in Glee. It is supposed to be fun. This is just high school Rach. You are the best singer but only because you have had years of training. The others know that you are the best as well but because you keep reminding them they feel worthless and you are just upsetting them."

"Well, if they would just admit that I am better-"

"Rachel!" Jo scowls at me, genuinely angry, and I look down at my bedspread. "Rach," she says more softly, "that is exactly why they keep lashing out. They want to prove that they are good singers as well. Maybe not as good as you are but worthwhile in their own right. They're scared that you won't let them have their time to shine." I gape at her. They think that?

"Yeah, they do." Oops, I said that out aloud. "They don't hate you Rach. They hate the way you make them feel."

"Oh."

"You have to be the bigger person in this. I know that they haven't been very nice to you but, if you let them have a few solos and lighten up a little then I assure you they will improve and they will like you more. Trust me." She says the magic words. I do trust her. Absolutely. I nod fiercely and she grins at me. "Then what are we waiting for? We have rehearsals."

The rehearsal were my idea. When we first made the list of things to improve on, I insisted on them. If there was any way that I could make a positive improvement, it had to be sudden and impressive so that people would take notice as soon as possible. In order for that to happen, I need to be perfect. I suppose we will be practising how I can be tactful, polite, helpful, and not stuck up or uptight.

"And you think that Quinn will be friends with me if I get this right?" Jo frowns slightly.

"Rach, I'll be honest, this isn't about Quinn for me." She scowls when she says Quinn's name. "This is for you. I want you to be confident and the best of everything." I beam at her. That's nice. "But, if you want Quinn…" she trails off and sighs. "Yeah kiddo. Quinn and everyone else. _Trust_ me."

**Woah, my first foray into the mind of Rachel Barbara Berry. I hope you guys liked it. Tell me what you think – please review, in other words! (Come on you 93 fantastic people!) I've got to go and finish the next chapter but, as always, happy reading, Readers :) **


	20. Chapter 20

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Twenty**

**Glee isn't mine. **

**Please enjoy.**

JO POV

Rehearsals started Saturday night, right after our conversation, and continued through all of Sunday. Rachel insisted upon them. 'I will not be adequately prepared for the reality if I don't even _attempt _the given scenarios.' Similarly, she _destroyed_ me when I looked to be denying her sleep. 'I need my sleep, Jo. How can I be adequately prepared for the rigours of school life if undue stress is put on my body? My immune system could be compromised!' Needless to say, I let her go to sleep.

Other than sleep, we only really stopped rehearsing for snacks and to perform for Hiram and Leroy on Sunday afternoon. They were sufficiently impressed with our ideas and, while fully supportive, they were a little worried at first.

"We don't want Rachel to pretend to be someone that she isn't. We think that she's perfect just the way she is," they insisted. —insert cuddling scene—(I'm not kidding. They really do have family hugs.) I reluctantly (read: secretly pleased) joined in when Rachel turned her puppy dog eyes on me and opened her arms.

After a few minutes of Rachel performing, the dads realised that Rachel is just being normal Rachel – _home_ Rachel that is – and didn't understand.

"Well," Rachel said while simultaneously twirling a lock of her hair thoughtfully around her index finger, "I'm a little different at school."

_I'm not ordinary,_ I heard in my mind and smile. I love that movie. ('Hey, Hey, It's Ester Blueburger', for those who don't know. She names her duck 'Normal'. I think I know what I'll name the duckling I intend to buy for Brittany…) Leroy and Hiram exchanged identical, confused glances.

"What do you mean sweetie?"

"I'm a little more…highly strung at school," she admitted with a slight frown. Leroy 'aah'ed in understanding. Hiram kept frowning, so Rachel reluctantly continued. "I am a bit more open in my opinions and louder and…" Hiram looked at her in horror.

"But, sweetie, you are plenty loud and opinionated!" Rachel scowled and stamped her foot.

"Dad!" Leroy chuckled and she turned on him. "Daddy!" I wisely said nothing but that didn't save me. "Jo! You are supposed to help me." She pouted a little and I shrugged.

"You are kind of opinionated Rach," I said. "It's _horrific_ at school," I stage whispered to her dads, who nodded in fervent agreement. Rachel stormed out of the living room and we waited patiently for her to calm down and return.

"Are you done gossiping about me?" Tempting as it might have been to say 'no' and infuriate her, we nodded obediently and, though she knew we were being insincere, she also knew that we were just kidding and let it go. "Alright then." She sniffs. "What do you have to say for yourselves?" Leroy and Hiram knew that it was their time to prove themselves and immediately stood to wrap Rachel in a shared hug.

"Rach, sweetheart, I'm so happy that you are changing yourself." Rachel sighed and Leroy took over for his husband.

"What we _mean_ is, we are very proud that you are going out of your way to be open to other people and to," he rolled his hands as if searching for the right word, making eyes at his husband to help out.

"And we are proud that you are finally making friends." Leroy sighed in defeat and Hiram shrugged. "What?"

"Dad!" Rachel stamped her foot and tried to storm out again but Hiram grabbed her shoulder and tugged her back into a hug. "I have enough friends," she whines. Hiram stroked her hair gently.

"I know sweetie, but the point of friends is that they _aren't_ family." Rachel scowled. "That's why the phrase is 'family and friends'. They're mutually exclusive."

"So I can't be friends with Jo?"

"Of course not!" Hiram exclaimed happily and I frowned. Great, thanks. I get to be the excluded girl with no friends and – "She's family!" I blinked. Oh. That's new. Hiram grinned at me, and he gestured for me to join their group hug. I declined with a tiny grimace and remained seated in my armchair (really, it is mine. I had it delivered from New York, along with all of my books. No one else may sit in it). The rest of that conversation continued in the same way – occasional teasing of Rachel (she makes it too easy) but mostly with Hiram and Leroy telling her that she is the most brightly shining star, the apple of their eye, the most excellent child, and that they are so proud of her.

"Jo helped me a lot," my sister said, the little bitch, when I tried to sneak away to my bedroom for some much-needed sleep. I was tugged back into Hiram and he tried to crush me with his muscles of steel (in a hug). I felt nothing but safe in his arms but I made the customary struggle before relaxing and patting his shoulder.

Today is Monday. Glee Rehearsal Number One since Rachel's 'makeover' and, as I have taken to calling it in my mind, 'Instigation of Plan _Rachel is Kickass Awesome. Fuck Yeah_.' Best name ever? I think so.

Mr Schuester is late, as per usual, and he frowns with surprise when he arrives. He looks around the room, peering at all the faces. "Hey guys. Where's Quinn?" I shift uncomfortably as all eyes turn to me. (Seems like everyone knew what went down last Wednesday.) "Guys?"

"Mr Schue, Quinn hasn't been here for two rehearsals."

"And that's why I'm asking, Puck." Mr Schuester smiles. Puckerman narrows his eyes with suspicion (good man) but shrugs and leans back in his chair lazily.

"She was suspended for a week. She'll be back for Wednesday's rehearsal," Rachel says simply.

"What? What for?" I can't resist rolling my eyes at his genuine surprise. All of the teachers were talking about it in the lunchroom – how on earth did he miss them talking about his student? I bet he was flirting with that ginger lady I've seen around…

"For being a mega-bitch," Santana mumbles. I hear her clearly but I know that Mr Schuester doesn't. He asks her to speak up. "She told some guys to beat up a new kid." She waves her hand in the 'therefore' gesture. "She got suspended for a week, they got two months." Mr Schuester still looks shocked, though he _really_ should have heard about this already when the teachers were informed, and shakes his head slowly as if disappointed.

"Well, I guess I'll talk with her when she gets back then." With that bit of business over, he beams at the kids and claps his hands. "Alright then. Who wants to perform their solo?" No one moves. All heads swivel to Rachel when she doesn't immediately make her way to the front. They roll their eyes and scowl but she just smiles at them. Her eyes seek mine from across the room and I nod. _You can do this_, I mouth encouragingly. She straightens in her chair and gives another smile to the now-bemused Mr Schuester.

"If I may be so bold, Mr Schue," cue the groaning, "Mercedes might like to go first instead." A heavy silence meets her silence. Eyes shift nervously, confused. Rachel turns in her seat to face the other girl. "I overheard a portion of your practise on Friday afternoon and I thought you were wonderful. Maybe you would like to go first?"

I _love_ it. It is the perfect combination of a command and an offer, but the command is so hesitant and cautious that I doubt Mercedes even registered it. Gay Boy's (Kurt, sorry) mouth falls open and he and Chocolate Bitch (Mercedes, _sorry_) exchange a flustered look. Chocolate Bitch recovers first and stands.

"Well, I guess you finally realised that I'm better," she smirks. She makes her way to the front, not realising that both Rachel and I have taken offence to that (though she did _mean_ to offend Rachel, I know). I calm myself and try to make contact with a visibly bristling Rachel to no avail. Thankfully, she manages to calm herself and offers Mercedes a half-smile, refusing to rise to the bait. Thank God I taunted Rach for most of the weekend and she's semi-used to it by now.

Disappointed that Rachel won't fight, Chocolate Bitch tosses her hair back and grins at the audience. She motions to the band and suddenly a massive wall of sound hits me. I will give her this: she obviously has two fully functional lungs. Maybe three…

"Wow." Mr Schuester nods enthusiastically when Mercedes is finished and claps loudly for her. He stands from where he was precariously perched on his chair. I get the feeling that he is always trying to connect with the kids. He is one of those 'cool' teachers. I just hope that he doesn't fall and break his neck. His leg, perhaps, but not his neck.

"Mercedes, that was great! Any comments guys?" Rachel opens her mouth and the others groan. Mercedes rolls her eyes and stomps back to her seat, keen on not hearing anything Rachel has to say. My sister slams her mouth shut with a frustrated frown and her lips tighten. A split second later, she forces a show smile and it a credit to her skill that her smile doesn't seem forced at all. She turns and nods to Mercedes.

"That was wonderful, Mercedes." That is all she says. She turns back to face the front and we exchange tiny smiles. Stick _that_ in your pipe and smoke it, Chocolate Bitch! There is no way anyone can say anything bad about that comment! The other Gleeks watch Rach closely as if waiting for the ten-minute diatribe she is prone to giving. (I would know: I have been both witness and subject to a number of them.) So, when she contentedly smiles and relaxes into her seat, they grin.

I growl deep in my throat at them. Every one of them thinks that they are better than Rachel and it makes me want to wade into their midst and start knocking heads. Especially Finn's. Numerous times. Against something sharp. (Seriously – he is her boyfriend and he still groans along the others when it looks like Rach is going to give a speech; he doesn't deserve her; he should support her; and his head is strangely inviting in a 'hit me' kind of way. I'm kitten with a ball of yarn, except that it is me and my borderline homicidal tendencies with his head…)

The only reason I don't crack any skulls is the fact that Rachel is looking at me nervously and I have to control myself so I can give her a reassuring smile. Also, if my temperamental sister can control herself, so can I.

"Um, okay then. Thank you Rachel. Who's next?" Mr Schuester looks around with that ridiculous 'inviting' smile of his but no one offers. He turns back to Rachel. "Rachel? I'm sure that you've prepared something." She hesitates before shaking her head.

"I'm actually still working on something, Mr Schuester." He looks stumped and I realise, not for the first time, that he plans his entire class around Rachel giving her customary speeches and input. Rachel knows this as well and, from her fidgeting, I can tell she is dying to leap in and rescue this rehearsal (from its painful and agonisingly slow death), so I stand.

"Mr Schuester, if I may?" His face clears with relief and he beams at me, moving aside to give me the floor (what a nice gift!). I don't move forward but, instead, I sit back down and cross my legs and nod to Puckerman, who sighs and stands.

"Fine," he grumbles. He grabs his guitar by the neck and, rather than playing it himself, he brings it over to me.

"What are you doing?" I murmur. He grins shamelessly.

"You _foisted_ an unexpected performance on me so I'm _foisting_ one on you." I frown at him but, after a moment, I shrug, stand, and take the guitar.

"Good word." I sling the strap over my shoulder and take a moment to tune the instrument to my standards.

"Thanks. I got _frustrated_ when we were shopping and so I _filched_ the dictionary from your bag and _flicked_ through it." I blink.

"And you were looking at the 'eff' words?" He nods and hands over the music score. I take a look and test out the chords on the unfamiliar guitar. I flex my fingers and nod to him. Ready.

"Okay guys." He scratches his mohawk and leers at Santana and Brittany. I fight the urge to hit him. "This is the only song I could find that fit the assignment and still suited my awesome badass rep. Plus, the band has my name in it!" He grins and I shake my head. "Hit it!"

The song suits his voice well enough, I suppose, because he's changed it a little to suit his more gravelly tone and rockabilly attitude. It has a nice message too.

The assignment is sucky because Mr Schuester is completely lacking in imagination. It's themed 'Life' and I have a strong suspicion that he is using these kids and their experience to teach himself about happiness and everything else that he missed out on or is yet to learn in his, what I assume to be a, sadly pathetic life. (No doubt they also had some kind of inappropriate lesson on sex.)

_Lisa likes brandy and it way it hits her lips/_ _She's a rock 'n' roll survivor with pendulum hips./_

I now understand why Puck is having me play the guitar. He wants to dance. Dirty dance. He thrusts a little and winks at Mercedes.

_She's got deep brown eyes/ That've seen it all./ Working at a night club/ That was called The Avenue/ The bar man used to call her/"Little Lisa, Looney Tunes"/ She went down on almost anyone./_

I do kick him now when he winks at Brittany but he recovers easily and I shake my head. That boy really needs to learn respect.

_From the hard time living/ 'til the Chelsea days/ From when her hair was sweet blonde/ 'til the day it turned grey/ She said L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N/ You've got more than money and sense my friend,/ You've got heart/ And you're going your own way/ L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N/ What you don't have now will come back again/ You've got heart/ And you're going your own way./_

The score calls for me to double the refrain here, cutting the song short by a little, and he starts the chorus again.

_L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N/ You've got more than money and sense, my friend/ You've got heart/ And you're going your own way./ L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N/ What you don't have now will come back again/ You've got heart/ And you're going your own way._

I must admit I underestimated Puckerman. Everyone, including me, thinks of him as the badass troublemaker. Don't get me wrong – he totally is that - but he is something more than just his reputation. And _that_ is easy to forget, especially with the way that he usually acts. Why am I saying this now? Because in the next verse, his voice takes on an abrupt longing that sounds so easy coming from him that I suspect it isn't an unfamiliar feeling. I admit that, perhaps, he didn't just want to sing the dirty line and shake his stuff and wink sleazily at girls. The song called to him. Then again, maybe I'm romanticising this, as I am prone to doing in my own mind, but that is what I like to think.

_On my last night on earth/ I wanna look to the sky/ Just breathe in the air/ And blink in the light./ On my last night on earth/ I'll pay a high price/ To have no regrets/ And be done with my life./ L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N/ You've got more than money and sense my friend/ You've got heart/ And you're going your own way./ L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N/ What you don't have now will come back again/ You've got heart/ And you're going your own way._

Puckerman bows and grins seedily at the girls in the room. I shake my head at him disapprovingly, which does nothing to deter him at _all_, and cross the room to slip his guitar reverently back into its case. It is a nice guitar. Unlike its owner…

Puckerman grabs my hand when I straighten and raises it above my head, pointing at me (sort of like I'm the winner of a wrestling match, if it helps you visualise it). I slap him away but I smile despite myself. I've missed playing guitar and it was nice to play today…even if I didn't have much warning. I just really haven't had the time since I came here. Everything has been so hectic. And, on occasion, it has been too painful for me to actually hold my beloved instrument.

"Jo, I didn't know you could play guitar." I smile at Mr Schuester and shrug, unconcerned, but inside I am pulling at my hair in frustration. _Of course you didn't know! I didn't _tell_ you!_ I ignore him and take what is now my customary seat, opposite the choir rises, and continue to watch the Gleeks. It readily becomes apparent that no one is going to volunteer so Mr Schuester decides to call it a day.

"Okay everyone, great rehearsal." The kiddies start to shuffle out. "Rachel, stay behind please." Rachel slowly sits back down and I loiter outside the classroom. "Rachel, I'm really disappointed in you. You knew that I would ask for you to present your solo today but you didn't prepare anything. Want to explain that?"

I peek through the little gap in the doorway. Rachel's lips are pressed tightly together until they are little more than thin white lines and her fingers have tightened on her books. "I'm sorry, Mr Schuester," she says carefully. "I'll have something prepared for tomorrow." He nods but doesn't soften his disappointment.

"Fine. You can go Rachel but," he shakes his head. "You need to start working for Glee as a team member. I'm really disappointed Rachel." She nods and strides out of the room, straight into me. When she apologises reflexively, I realise that she is crying and doesn't actually know who I am.

"Hey. _Hey_, what's wrong kiddo?" I wipe the tears from her cheeks. Stupid question, I know.

"They _hate_ me," she sobs. "They think I'm some kind of music bitch and, and Mr Schuester is _useless_." I check nervously to make sure that he went into his office – yes, he did – before focusing on my sister. "And he doesn't say anything when they pick on me and I have to defend myself and he expects me to sing and teach and do his job and then he calls me _selfish_ and," she ends in a little wail and I hug her tightly to my chest. I translate crying-Rachel speak into a more easily understood language.

"So…" I say slowly, " You're upset because everyone thinks you are stuck up but you only do that because Mr Schuester is useless and you have to take charge." She nods pathetically into my shoulder and I pat her hair softly. After a second I ruffle it and her reaction is just what I expected it would be. She jerks away from me, eyes blazing, and her tears dry quickly as she glares at me and fixes her hair. It _would_ have been a good sister bonding moment but I don't think I'm quite ready for that yet. Besides, tears and snot are gross and I only have a certain number of outfits.

"Don't worry kiddo. That's why I'm here." And it is. I'm here to help her (and to brainwash her into thinking that Shelby is fantastic) and I've been recruited by the Gleeks to improve their club, which, by extension, is something that will help her and make her happy. God knows they have enough in raw talent – they've gone so far every year despite their conductor's ineptitude (I heard on the show choir grapevine that they didn't even have their performance pieces by the time they arrived in New York last year). Rachel beams up at me and I smile back. Day One of Plan 'Rachel is Kickass' had gone off without a hitch. Well, she did cry – thanks a lot Mr Schuester – but no one else saw that so I count it overall as a huge success.

Still… "Rach." She smiles at me. "We don't have to do this you know." She frowns at me. "Plan _Rachel is Kickass_. We don't have to do it. It's just one year and you have me and Puck and your dads. We'll look after you and tell you when you're being a bit diva-ish. We don't have to do this." She looks at me curiously.

"Why are you saying this now?" She waves her hand back towards the choir room. "We've already started."

"You can say that you were sick. We don't _have _to do this."

"Yeah, we do." I frown at her. "I'm tired of having no one Jo-"

"You've got me!"

"You're my sister."

"Well, you have Puckerman as well. And Dave likes you. He told me so. He says that you're cool when…"

"When?"

"When you aren't at school. He thinks it's his fault that you're like this at school."

"Well. That settles it. I guess we are doing it then." She strides away, leaving me in the hallway.

"What?" I say to myself. "That settled _nothing_." I shout after her, "Rach! That settled nothing!" She ignores me. She turns the corner and _splash!_ gets a chest full of slushie. She gasps and stares down at her new clothes – now completely ruined – as the jock laughs and walks away. I fight between tackling him and _hurting_ him or helping out my sister, a battle easily won when she turns to me and looks so utterly miserable that I forget all about him.

"Come on. The hallway is empty and no one else saw except for him. The plan is still on track." She nods, reassured by my no-nonsense attitude and I shrug off my jacket, draping it over her and hiding the slushie. "There. Now no one can tell that you were slushied."

"But…this is your jacket." I frown at her.

"And?"

She smiles a little and tugs it more fully around her. "Nothing. You are just abnormally attached to it." I shrug.

"Okay. Well, let's get to the car without anyone seeing that you were slushied and everything will be okay. Your school domination will still be on track." Rachel beams at me and practically skips to the car. Sometimes I just don't understand how her emotions work…

**Hey guys. The song is called 'L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N' by Noah & the Whale. I love the band, they are so fantastic, yay :) No plagiarism intended, just using the song because I love it. Sorry to y'all who didn't like the way I did the song lyrics but I didn't really want it to be a song fic – I kind of just wanted it to look like speech but it was a song too… sorry if you don't like it. If you have any suggestions on how to do it better I'd love to hear them. Also, in response to a review, don't be too angry with Rachel for seemingly not caring that Jo was badly hurt when Quinn had her attacked. She doesn't actually know how badly Jo was beaten up – no one does. Remember? Jo wouldn't let them see. Well, other than Quinn. And Santana. Happy reading, Readers :)**


	21. Chapter 21

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Twenty-One**

**Glee isn't mine. **

**Hey guys, sorry. I meant to post this earlier but I was sick for most of this week so you are only now getting it. My apologies. Please enjoy.**

JO POV

Rehearsal Two – and continuation of Plan 'Rachel is Kickass'.

I am wandering down the corridor toward the choir room when I hear it. The most beautiful, most magical thing I have ever heard. Music to my ears, figuratively speaking. (What a weird cliché though, right? Bad music or good music? Who can tell? And why is it music to my ears if it isn't literally music? Sometimes I just don't understand English…) My point is that I hear this:

"-you hear? The slushie machine is broken," I catch Person One saying.

"I _know_," Person Two gushes. "I went to get one yesterday but a heap of paper fell out saying crap like 'these drinks are unhealthy' and 'ice can kill – evidence: The Titanic'.

I smirk at their conversation. This is the first time I'm hearing of this – though I'm sure that there was some kind of school-wide outrage about the slushie machine being broken when they returned on Tuesday morning – because I like to wait until the gossip trickles down the school hierarchy to the affectionately termed 'losers'. These geeks in the hallway (Person One and Two) feel safe enough to talk about it now so the jocks can't be too angry anymore. I nod happily to the chatty pair and they nod warily back.

"Who was _that_?" Person Two whispers. The other swallows so loudly that I can actually hear it five paces away.

"_That_," he murmurs, "is Jo Corcoran. I heard that Rachel Berry hired her as a bodyguard and now no one dares mess with Berry." I smile again, much wider this time. Is that what they are saying about me? How cute.

I leave them as they are – perhaps quivering in fear because I turn and glare at them for gossiping about me – and slip through the open doorway of the choir room. The piano man looks up at me. (I have a couple of questions about him – does he ever leave the room? Does he have a home to go to?) He blinks creepily at me and I nod to him. It never pays to be rude to the silent, creepy types. I've always found that they are the ones that surprise you: either with their goodness, or with their evilness. I settle on my seat and pull out a little book to pass the time – only about a thousand pages – just to tide me over until Rachel arrives for lunch. It isn't long before a tiny young woman comes to stand next to me.

"The slushie machine is broken. Did you know?"

"How _awful_," I drawl. "Whatever could have happened to it?" I flip a page, utterly unconcerned.

"No one knows." Rachel drags her chair over next to mine and sits.

"What, ah, what are people saying about it?" I say casually. You've caught me. I like to know what people are saying about me. I'm a vain villainous vigilante. I studiously avoid looking directly at Rachel but, from the corner of my eye, I can see that she is smirking at me. Bad habit, that. I rather like to think that she learnt it from me.

"Well," she begins, equally casually, "most people are lamenting the loss of their drinks but there are a few people who are very thankful and wondering what strong, clever, and mysterious hero to thank for their valiant deed." She says it mildly but her tone becomes slightly sarcastic when she says 'strong, clever, and mysterious hero' and 'valiant deed'. I smirk down at my book. "I don't suppose that you, as a teacher, would know anything about this?"

"Nope, nothing at all." Which is true. As a teacher, I know nothing. As a strong, clever, and mysterious hero, however, I know _all_ about it. She shakes her head, laughing silently, and leans over so she can rest her head on my shoulder.

"What are you reading?"

"History book." I show her the cover and she grimaces delicately.

"That is huge and not on our curriculum. Why are you reading that?" I shrug.

"For fun. Why are you reading Barbara's biography?" I look at her sideways, smiling. "Again?" She huffs and crosses her arms, pulling away from me. Apparently she can't be affectionate towards me if she is cranky – which, now that I think about it, makes complete sense.

"_Everyone_ should read Barbara's biography! We have been over this before, Jo," she hisses. "Not only is it extremely interesting, but also she is an immensely talented individual and everyone can learn something from her. I am of the highest opinion that Barbara's biography _should_ be on the curriculum." I shake my head but make no comment. There is no argument against this, not that I really care to argue with it, that won't get me killed. Rachel is very passionate about her idol, as well she should be. After a few moments of self-righteous posturing, she relaxes and we settle into a comfortable silence. And, by 'comfortable', I mean that it is comfortable for me. Rachel, on the other hand, is reduced to a fidgeting wreck within moments. She won't last long.

"I'm going to practise." She leaps up from the seat and strides over to the piano. I smile down at my book. Told you.

A though occurs to me and I tilt my head slightly to the side. It's been a while since I've heard about…"Hey, Rach?" She lifts her head and smiles at me as her fingers tinkle the keys effortlessly. I note that she has also managed to make the piano man move somewhere else and I am duly impressed. I lay a finger on my current page and frown. "What do you think of Finn?"

A jarring note bangs from the piano and Rachel looks down at it, stricken, though whether that is due to the fact that she played a note so badly or due to what I said, I don't know.

"Rach?"

"I _love_ Finn. I thought that was obvious." She is very emphatic. I hold a hand up in surrender (the other, of course, otherwise engaged with holding my place).

"Whoa. Okay. Calm down, it was just a question." She strokes the ivory keys to calm herself and, after a moment, continues to play. I lower my hand slowly and lay it on the hard cover of my history book. I flip my book open again and stroke the page I'm on. It's a reassuring feeling, grounding. I don't need it, exactly, I don't need to be reassured, but it's nice to be occasionally.

"What exactly do you like about him?" I ask, curious. She tenses again and I beat my fingers lightly on the book. Grounded. Reassured. Stay strong.

"What?" I smile at her.

"What do you like about him?"

"Well…I guess, I mean, he. I," she fumbles with her words for a minute. "He loves me." I nod. "He is really nice and he thinks the world of me." Her brow furrows as she taps the same key over and over and over again. I wonder if she even knows that she's doing it. The corners of my lips twitch when I see my own finger, tapping away on the page. I suppose I can't really judge her for that. What I _do_ intend to judge her for is her love for _Finn Hudson_.

"Sounds like you really love him Rach." I keep my voice mild – without even the slightly tinge of sarcasm – because I know to do otherwise would only serve to activate her stubbornness. She'll feel like she has something to prove. I return to my book, not daring to look at her in case she can read something of my derision for her boyfriend in my eyes. I just hope that my questions have made her think a little.

"Yeah." Maybe she's already been thinking though. She doesn't seem as sure as she did with her 'I _love_ him' statement. In truth, she was probably only being defensive with that. Perhaps she realises more than I think she does: perhaps she already knows that she is in love with Quinn Fabray. "Why are you asking about Finn?"

I shrug. "No reason in particular. You just haven't talked about him much. Actually, I haven't heard much about him since school started." She sighs.

"That's because we aren't dating." I frown.

"What? But you just said-" She smiles sadly.

"Oh, no, I mean, we _are_ dating but we aren't _dating_. I tried to set up a date a few weeks ago and I asked him to come over and have dinner with us but he kept putting it off so I told him to come up with a date and he hasn't." She frowns at the piano.

"Oh. I see."

"And it's not like I haven't talked to him about it!" she continues. "I keep leaving him hints. The other day I left brochures in his locker for a play that was being performed and I told him I'd like to go to Breadstix even though they don't have a particularly good vegan range, but…" She shrugs.

"He doesn't get it?" She shakes her head miserably. "Well, hey, I wouldn't worry about it kiddo. I'm sure he'll pick up his game." I wink at her. "Especially with how you look now." She smooths her clothes with a small, self-conscious smile.

"I look good?"

"Good?" I scoff. "Girl, you are _smoking_." She laughs when I waggle my eyebrows like Puckerman does and shakes her head.

"Jo, you are mean. Noah isn't _always_ like that." I just give her a look – that look that says 'are you sure? Are you _absolutely_ sure? – and return to my book. I consider what I've just learnt. One – Rachel is slightly insecure about her looks despite the makeover (admittedly, it wasn't much of a makeover. We just went shopping). Two – Finn is an unimaginable douche, though I did already know that and three – their relationship isn't going too well.

The bell rings and I shut my book gently, sliding it into my bag. "See you at the rehearsal this afternoon?" Rachel nods and I race to my next class. Having lunch with Rach is always great and I wouldn't give it up for anything but it does suck that my next class is on the other side of the school.

Time passes quickly and, before I know it, it's time for rehearsal. Brittany and I wait patiently in the choir room for the Gleeks to arrive and play a game of snap to pass the time. Naturally, Rachel is the first to arrive. She smiles at Brittany, who waves excitedly to my sister and invites her to sit with us. Santana strides in next and pulls Brittany away from 'the Hobbit'. The rest of the Gleeks shuffle in within the next few minutes – Artie wheels in later than the others and Finn bumbles in last of all, loudly, and sits next to Rachel, draping a mammoth arm possessively around her shoulders. I cough lightly to get their attention when Mr Schuester is late.

"Well guys, it looks like Mr Schuester is late so I want you all to start your warms ups without him." I go to open up my book but Piano Man coughs. His beard captivates me with the way it ruffles when he coughs. I raise a brow. He seems to be done with his interjection so I turn to the Gleeks to translate.

"Warm ups?" I ask them. Kurt frowns at me.

"We don't do warm ups."

"Pardon?" The kids shift uncomfortably and I shake my head. "Really, guys, you don't do warm ups?"

"No," Tina says. Rachel lowers her head, not wanting to say that she does warm-ups. I nod at her.

"Okay, well, other than Rachel, you guys don't do warm-ups?"

"No." I rub my forehead tiredly.

"Okay, okay. That's fine." Lie. Mega lie. Warm ups are essential. Every singing teacher – hell! Every _student_ knows that! "Kurt – do you know any warm ups?" He nods. "Good. Take us through one." He jumps to his feet and saunters to the front. He sends a look Mercedes' way, who shrugs, and I tut. "Mr Hummel?" He nods politely and starts his warm up. He hums through buzzed lips and, soon enough, everyone copies him. After another minute I stop him.

"Thank you, Kurt. Rachel, take us through a scale exercise, please?" I nod to Piano man, who presses on middle C, and she immediately starts the C major scale. I grin at her when the others follow without a single quibble. Her eyes are a little wide and she almost falters in the exercise. No doubt she is shocked that they aren't annoyed that she is helping them out, so I nod as if to say 'see? Who is the greatest sister ever?'

We are halfway through our fourth warm up (the third taken by cyborg-Artie and the fourth by Vampire Girl/half of Asian couple/Tina) when Mr Schuester strides into the room. I swivel on my chair when the kiddies stop singing.

"Oh." He stops abruptly and looks around at his students. "You started without me." I resist the urge to say a lot of things that are on my mind – most prominent being 'yes, you were fifteen minutes late' – but I can't risk offending him. I'm only here because he is letting me stay. This isn't actually a formal role, 'advisor of the Glee Club'. Thankfully, Brittany has no such filter.

"Yeah Mr Schue. You were really late. Lucky we have Jo to help out." She smiles beatifically at her teacher, who looks taken aback but he can't say anything because a) it's true and b) it was said entirely without malice so he can't give detention for disrespect or some crap like that.

"Um, yes, well. Anyway – Rachel, you said yesterday that you wanted to perform?" I frown. That is a very interesting way of putting it. 'Rachel, I said yesterday that I was going to force you to perform. Get up here' might be a more accurate statement. Mercedes looks angry – thanks a lot Mr Schuester. She probably thinks that Rachel complained to him about her performance yesterday and didn't have the lady balls to say it to her face – girls are so _sensitive_! Rachel sees this and turns to me, eyes wide. I nod at her. Go for it. She stands and wipes her hands on her jeans. No doubt she's a little anxious.

"Of course, Mr Schuester," she says smoothly. So smoothly that, if I were him, I would be looking out for greased floors or banana peels. He's on her shit list, that's for sure. "I would like to take a moment to say," the Gleeks groan and Rachel does falter here but tosses her hair back (in defiance, atta girl!) and proceeds despite them, "that I was extremely impressed with the performances yesterday. Mercedes, Noah," she says with a nod to each of them. "Today I will be singing Barbara's _Happy Days are Here Again._ Thank you." Mercedes looks a little confused but settles on what appears to be self-important indifference at Rachel's words. Puckerman, on the other hand, puffs his chest out and smirks when Rachel compliments him.

I am extraordinarily pleased with my little sister. I didn't even tell her that she might like to compliment them – that was all her. I don't think that it is possible for me to be more proud of her. And then I hear her sing.

Let's get one thing straight. I hear Rachel sing every day. I help her practise three days a week now (as per our arrangement) and occasionally she will sing with her dads during family time. She also spontaneously bursts into song, which can be slightly distracting. My point is, I hear her sing a lot. Today, though…today she just sweeps me away. Astounds me. I am utterly gobsmacked, stupefied, overwhelmed. It could be the fact that she has a somewhat hostile audience and she feels the need to dredge up every last iota of passion and talent she contains in that tiny body to impress them. It could be that she really, really likes the song. It could be a fluke. Whatever the reason, I find myself on the edge of my seat and watching her intently, filled with an utterly unexpected joy and the contentment and happiness she is legitimately projecting from her goddamn pores and including us in.

With one last, lingering note, she breaks the spell and steps away from the microphone. She holds up a hand to acknowledge and thank Piano Man, who nods his bearded head. There is no applause. She stands there, wavering on the spot, before she lowers her eyes and walks back to her seat. There's still no applause. I would start it myself but I am still in awe of the almighty voice that came out of such a small girl. I know, I know, I said that just a second ago but _wow_.

Surprisingly, it is Mercedes that starts the applause. Not so much applause, I suppose, as letting her breath out in a gust and smiling tentatively at her friend/rival.

"Wow Rachel. That was amazing. She looks to be on tenterhooks like I am. I hope and pray that this compliment won't send Rachel off into her 'I know I'm amazing' speech. Thankfully, my sister flushes lightly and smiles equally tentatively back at Mercedes.

"Thank you Mercedes. Your song was also amazing. I particularly enjoyed how you reworked the song to suit your own style. It was wonderfully performed." Mercedes blinks and I can feel every one of the Gleeks thinking… 'did Rachel turn a compliment for _herself_ into a compliment for someone _else_?' And the answer is most definitely yes. Yes she did.

Mr Schuester stands. "Alright, anyone else?" I grip the sides of my seat so I don't punch that man in the face. He is able to compliment all of the others and yet finds himself incapable of telling Rachel 'well done'? Grr. My fingers twitch, tighten, and I half-stand, throwing myself out of the chair. I am thumped back down into it as Brittany jumps onto my lap in a hug. Rachel and Puckerman look over at me, glaring, and shake their heads as well. I smile when Mr Schuester looks at me, well, at us.

"Something to add, Miss Corcoran? Brittany?"

"No sir. I just saw a really gross, disgusting bug and I was going to squash it." I was going to leave it at that but he might question me so I reluctantly add," and it flew away." He eyes me for a moment but turns to Brittany.

"Brittany? Want to tell me why you are on Miss Corcoran's lap?" My blonde friend smiles at her teacher.

"Sanny told me to." Suddenly, most of the Gleeks are muffling laughter and Santana is flushing a deep red. Normally I would call it anger but she can't really be angry with Brittany so I'll call it embarrassment. It's a good look. She rolls her eyes.

"Whatever. I knew that Britt would be upset if Corcoran squashed…the bug." Her slight pause was perfectly timed and I had to bite my tongue to stop from laughing. The way her eyes crinkled slightly told me that she knew exactly what she was doing, the bitch. It was hilarious – until I remembered that she knew about me, and my back, so basically everything I don't want anyone to know about and my smile faded and I looked away. She continued. "I told Britt to sit on Corcoran so the bug could escape. So what?" She shrugs.

"Alright." Mr Schuester scratches his head and smiles at his very confusing bunch of stars. "Who's next?" Whatever was going to happen next was ruined by the clock ticking over to four (how did that happen? I swear, time flies when you are trying to maim/mutilate a teacher) and the clatter of the students hurrying to pack their bags and escape as soon as possible. "Okay, no worries!" He tries to yell over the sound. "Thanks for coming guys and please be prepared for tomorrows rehearsal!"

I crash on my bed when I get home and Rachel crawls onto it a few seconds later.

"What do you think you're doing?" I murmur. Too tired to move though.

"Sleeping. Go 'way." I turn my head a little to peer at her. She is curled as close as she can to my side without touching me and I sigh, lift my arm, and pull her closer.

"'Kay. Sleep well," I say through a yawn. She nods, mumbles something into my shoulder, and starts to snore.

**Okay, I'd love to know what you think. I know plenty of you have mixed emotions about Rachel changing herself – succumbing to peer pressure – but just trust me, okay? Happy reading, readers :)**


	22. Chapter 22

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Twenty-Two**

**Glee is not mine. **

**Please enjoy. **

JO POV

"_What do you think you're doing?" I pause, one foot on the stairs. –_Wake up Corcoran. It's a fucking dream. Wake up!-_ I start to shake a little. I recognise this voice. How can I not? I heard it every day of my young life and, if that wasn't enough, I heard it in my dreams as well. Even now, I hear it in my dreams. _– Wake up Jo! – _"I said, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"_

_I turn in my place, keeping my eyes carefully on the floor like he demands. Shows that I respect him. I tuck my hands neatly behind my back. " I was going to the bathroom, sir," I murmur. Heavy footsteps. A hand grips my chin and yanks it up. I meet his eyes. In this swirl of nightmare-cross-memory, his eyes are dark and brimming with drunken madness. Unnatural shadows pour from his eyes, from between his lips, and crawl up, itching, up my skin from where his hands are touching me. _

"_I said," he shakes me hard, "where the fuck do you think you're going?"_

"_Sir," I murmur, "I was going to the bathroom, sir." Repeat it until he hears. If he hears. _– No, you stupid dolt! Wake the fuck up because it's a fucking dream! – _I focus on not crying. He hates it when I cry. _

"_The bathroom, huh?" He lets go of my chin and I relax a little. Bad move. He backhands me viciously across the face and I fall, ears ringing. My hands move up to cup my ears and I wince. Bad move number two. "I'm not stupid!" He roars. Spittle lands on my cheek but I make no move to wipe it away. "You were going to climb out the window, weren't you? You little freak!"_

_I bite my lip. Rage bubbles beneath the surface of my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut and force my fists to open. Sure, forget the fact that I can't fit through the window (yes, I tried) and the fact that our apartment is on the third storey and use your paranoia as an excuse to hit me. "No sir. I just wanted to go to the bathroom."_

"_Stop it!" I flinch but he isn't talking to me. Or to anyone, really. He is flailing madly and punching at invisible, incorporeal enemies. "Stop it!" I try to inch away. Naturally, it draws his attention back to me and he growls. "Trying to escape, were you? Where were you going?" His blank stare tells me he forgets our discussion. _

"_I was going to the bathroom, sir." He blinks and smiles kindly at me._

"_Okay sweetie. Come down again when you're finished." I nod and thank him before racing upstairs. I pee and wash my hands and then…I stare at the window. True, it's a little too small and, also true, we are on the third storey. I press my hand to it and the door slams open. I yelp and pull my hand away. _

_His face is wet. I assume that he dunked his head in some water. He looks sober and I am more frightened than I have ever been by the cold look in his eyes. He smiles. "The window again, sweetheart?" I shiver. _

"_I was just,"_

"_I know what you were 'just'." His face tightens and he tuts. "I expected better behaviour from you Josephine. After all, your mother told you to behave for me this morning, remember?"_

"_Yes sir, I was just," his face tightens more and I stop immediately. "I'm sorry sir. I don't know…" I swallow reflexively and continue. "I don't know what came over me." I'm whispering the words by the end but it doesn't matter. I hope. He heard them, right? He strides farther into the bathroom and kneels down in front of me. He strokes my hair. _

"_Oh you poor thing." His eyes _– there are not his eyes you stupid girl. Wake up! It's just a dream! – _are warm. "Sweetheart," he sighs. "Sweetie, come here." He bundles me into his arms and, after a moment, I hug him back. "I'm sorry. I guess I scared you before, didn't I?"_

_Today, and yesterday, and the day before that, and every day before that. But it's okay because you always apologise, right? It's okay because you love me? You just want me to be a better person. My grip tightens on him and he chuckles. "It's okay sweetie." He rocks me side-to-side. "I've got you." You love me…Dream/nightmare takes over and he grows immensely in seconds, his arms never letting go. His hands crush my ribs and his teeth are pearly white and grinning and the size of my hands and I scream and –_

open my eyes.

"Well. That was fun." I blink. And remember that, before I closed my eyes, Rachel was in bed with me. I sit up straight and turn, anxiously, to the side. Please, God, Jesus, Tom Cruise, Allah, Buddha, Dalai Lama, please don't let me have said anything in my sleep. I peek over and…she's gone. Not there. I sigh in relief. Okay. Everything is a-okay. Except, you know, for the slight nausea and the recurring nightmares that tell me that I'm psychologically damaged. But, other than that, I'm completely fine.

I hate those dreams most of all. Not the content, though that's bad enough, but the fact that I _know_ that it's a dream and I still can't wake up. That's the worst part.

I glance over at the alarm clock, which reads in blinking, red numbers, 7:34 am. I frown. Why does everything feel the need to remind me that I'm alive? I throw the sheet over my face and wriggle into the warmth, close my eyes, and try to go to sleep. Wait. Shit. 7:34? Crap, crap, crappity crap muffins. _I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm so bloody dead._ She'll kill me. I leap out of bed (read: somehow manage to have both feet tangled in the sheets so I slam face and elbow into the floor but thought it more impressive to call it a purposeful leap) and scurry to my bedroom, nursing my newest injuries.

In record time I am washed and dressed and at the door, still towelling my hair dry. I've also managed to stub my toe in the rush and it's throbbing painfully. Rachel is standing there and scowling. I assume that her dads have already left for work.

"Yeah, yeah. Kill me later. Get in the car now." She huffs at me but I grunt back at her, glaring – what? I haven't even had my coffee yet! I am_ not_ a person you want to mess with this morning. She slides dutifully into the passenger seat and I tear out of the driveway. Rachel grips her seat.

"I am not interested in getting to school fast _and_ dead," she says. I ease my foot of the accelerator – though, in my defence, I was still within the speed limit – and she sighs in relief…and then proceeds to ignore me for the rest of the drive. I grit my teeth. Yes Rachel, because this was my fault. Your leaving my room and turning off my alarm had nothing at all to do with it.

She hops out of the car when I park and leaves without a goodbye or even a little smile. My hands tighten on the steering wheel until it creaks and I realise that what I'm feeling isn't just anger but also pain from where I've forced the blood out of my hands with the pressure. I let go and will the blood back in, staring as the white is invaded by red, curiosity piqued by the tingling in my palms. I am so entranced that I don't notice her approaching and the little knock on my car window makes me jump. I open the door when I see that it's Rachel and I slide out, closing and locking the car behind me. I lean against my car and fold my arms.

"What?" She winces a little at my brusque tone but says nothing. Yeah, you deserved that.

"Thanks for driving me to school." She smiles brilliantly and my inner demon – usually placated by coffee – calms somewhat.

"Whatever. Why were you even angry?" I grunt, annoyed. "You're not even late. We still have ten minutes." Her eyes flicker over to where a group of Cheerios are advancing on the school. From this distance I can see that most of them are dishevelled, with twigs in their hair and mud streaks everywhere except their uniform, except for the three strutting out the front. They look fresher than daisies. I frown at Rachel. Wait – three Cheerios?

"Quinn's back?" She smiles and nods before realising that, oh yes, I'm not quite as happy about that as she is. Especially when I snarl silently in Quinn's direction.

"She is." Rachel twists awkwardly in place. "Are you okay with that?"

I shrug. "Sure, why wouldn't I be?" This line may have worked better if I hadn't been glaring in her direction.

"Well, because she hurt you." I lean further into my car. Okay demon, time to go back into hiding. I don't need you anymore. I run a hand through my hair before snatching it away – dammit, I'm becoming just like Puckerman and his mohawk!

"Yes, she did." I squeeze my eyes shut in a valiant effort to focus my thoughts and to banish the anxiety and hatred so that I can think logically. Normally, this process doesn't take much effort but forgive me. I'm tired and cranky and I haven't had my coffee. And yes, I know I've said that already. See? I'm _trying_ to think. "I'm…not happy with her." Understatement. "And I haven't forgiven her but I'm not going to demand her head or anything. I'll probably talk to her later when I'm less angry." Rachel nods slowly and I sigh. "None of this means that you aren't allowed to talk to her, you realise." Her eyes widen.

"What do you mean?" I groan.

"Jesus Christ, Rach. I can't deal with this bullshit this morning. You are friends now, whoop de fucking doo. I'm not going to stop you from talking to her." Despite my language, she looks like she is about to hug me and I'm fairly sure that with how I feel right now (lousy, quite angry, and volatile) she may even get punched. I wave her away. "Enough sappy shit. Get your ass to class Miss Berry."

She salutes me and trots off, smart enough to realise that I am about to snap. I pretend that I don't notice the slightly longing glance she sends Quinn's way but I do notice it and it hurts more than I thought it would. Quinn is a mega-bitch, but she is the reason my sister wouldn't talk to me: because I woke up late and couldn't get her to school quickly enough for her to be able to ogle Miss Perfect Quinn Fabray on her return to school. That's just fabulous.

I run to catch up with the Cheerios, snarling at anyone who gets in my way, and shove my way through the group. I take care not to get any mud on me.

"Hey Britt." I see the disgusted looks the nearest Cheerios are giving me and narrow my eyes. "Constipated, girls? The bathroom is that way." I flick my finger towards the bathroom and they huff and turn away. I smirk and turn to focus on Brittany's cute grin. She bounces in place.

"Jo!" She squeals. "Time for class?" She dances a little jig when I nod and I see some of the younger cheerleaders look at her in despair. Even Quinn and Santana look impressed by her energy.

"Calm down, Britt." I lean in closer. "Why are the Cheerios so tired?" Britt's smile widens.

"Coach Sue is back!" She prances off as if she doesn't feel or see the shudder of fear that travels up the entire schools' back at those words – except mine. I don't know who 'Coach Sue' is.

"Cheerios – go away." Quinn barks her order and, miraculously, the entire group disperses, gone within my silent count of three. Ice Quinn gives me a nod and a cool look and, I have to admit, I am more than slightly impressed by her composure. Mostly pissed off though. She looks a little tired. Not physically, she's far better off than the Cheerios that limped away anyway, but she has bags under her eyes that even makeup can't hide. Her shoulders are tense and her jaw is set stubbornly. Something isn't right.

"Welcome back, Fabray."

"Corcoran."

"Enjoy your holiday?" Her face remains impassive but her eyes flash with…something. I decide that it's anger.

"It was lovely, thank you." She smiles sweetly at me and I can feel myself getting diabetes. "Ouch! Santana!" Santana looks up from her phone, one eyebrow raised like 'who? Me? I didn't jab you in the boob with my sharp elbow' and I let my lips twitch a little but that's all. I mostly ignore Santana, as does Quinn. She isn't part of this interaction. I tilt my head to the side.

"Any plans to humiliate or torture me some more?" She shakes her head. "Oh goodie. Then fuck off." She nods and scurries off, recognising my oh so subtle dismissal. Santana laughs.

"Nice work Corcoran. Q isn't that submissive for just anyone." She winks slowly. "You must really know how to handle a girl." I give her a level look, unimpressed.

"Right." I go to leave but feel Santana's hand wrap around my wrist. She tugs me back. I look down at her hand and peel off her fingers as she talks.

"Look, Jo, this has to stop." I freeze because she has _slipped her phone into her bra._ (Give her a break; those uniforms don't exactly have space for pockets.) I have _never_ seen her with her phone out of her hand unless Brittany is right next to her. "Jo, we were _friends_," she grimaces. Clearly that word isn't used often. "before Q texted those jerks. That had nothing to do with me so why are you ignoring me?" I blink. She thinks I'm ignoring her?

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't hurt you! So why the fuck won't you talk to me?" I cross my arms. Seriously? She doesn't know?

"I won't talk to you because," I avert my eyes. She is really going to make me say it? "Because you saw it." She's quiet for a few seconds before she takes a step closer. I jerk away. Too close!

"Your back?" I nod. "Shit, Corcoran, I'm not going to tell anyone." She whisper-hisses and I meet her eyes. "I'm not that much of a bitch." She rolls her eyes. "Christ. You know what, fix whatever problems you've got Corcoran cause that shit is messing with you and me," her index finger flicks between us, "and Britt-Britt likes it when we're friends." She sniffs derisively. "Now come on. Britt's waiting for us." She saunters off down the hall. "Hurry the fuck up, Corcoran!" She yells over her shoulder when I don't move.

So – bonus point of today: it was super easy to ensure Santana's silence. Now, to see if Brittany has the same level of control over Quinn…

At lunch I make my way to the choir room, hoping that Rachel will be there. It has sort of become our place – mostly because no one else really goes there to eat and partly because Rachel likes to make me play the piano. Not today though. I've been in the room for about thirty seconds when the door opens quietly and she slumps into her seat.

"Is it too much to hope that everyone has finally decided that they like me?" I take Finn's usual place next to her – I'm not too worried about him interrupting. He never really hangs out with her at lunch, which is strange, right? I thought that boyfriends were supposed to, you know, spend time with their girlfriends. (Maybe it will be easier that I think it will be to break them up…not that I'm planning on doing that. At all. Cough.) If he does come to sit with her then I will move but right now I just want to sit with my sister. I was kind of a bitch this morning and I'm hoping to make it up to her now.

I rest my hands on the edges of my seat and hunch my shoulders in a cautious shrug. "You know that things don't just change like that, no matter how much we wish they would." She looks at me strangely, probably curious about the all-knowing tone I accidently adopted. If she asks, I only said it like that because I am naturally wiser than she is because of my years and experiences. "Has there been any change at all?" She starts to shake her head no, stops, and frowns.

"Maybe. No one has made fun of my clothes."

"That would be because there is nothing to make fun of." Kurt's voice shocks both of us, making us whip our heads up. I just realised that our heads were practically pressed together as we chatted. I wonder if we do that a lot. Rachel narrows her eyes at him.

"You think that these clothes are too skimpy? Are my shorts too short?" She moves to cover herself and I grab her hands.

"Only you, Rach. Only you could take that in a bad way." She doesn't appreciate my laughter and yanks away from me.

"Well, if you had people making fun of you for years you might be a little sensitive too!" She turns away and I wince. _Touché. _

"Sorry Rach. I…" What do I say? I forgot? That's a lie. I never knew. I mean, I knew that people teased her but it's one thing to know that she's been teased in the time that I've been here and quite another to project that shame and sadness and loneliness back through the years before I arrived. "I'm sorry Rachel." I let my awareness tinge my apology and she takes a moment before she softens and turns back. It's a nice sisterly moment until -

"I'm sorry too sweetie. I haven't been a very good friend lately." Kurt's voice breaks into our sister bubble. We both turn to glare at him.

"You were my _only_ friend, Kurt, and then you made me into a crazy clown hooker, abandoned me, and started mocking me with Mercedes. So, no, you haven't been a very good friend." He looks away, shame-faced.

"Rachel, he apologised. Give him a break, okay?" Rachel bristles and I kind of want Mercedes to go and drown in a vat of tater tots. While these violent urges aren't new, it scares me how often there are making themselves heard here in Lima. Maybe because I didn't really talk to anyone in New York…

"Thank you for your input Mercedes," she says through stiff lips, "but I am, at this moment, inclined to disregard your advice." Mercedes glares at her and I start fidgeting. _Awkward._

"So. Glee this year. You guys are pretty good, yeah?" I smile weakly as they all look at me. They nod.

"Speaking of Glee," Rachel says quietly, "I made some notes on your performance if you would like to see them Mercedes." Mercedes scowls.

"So what? Those compliments were lies?"

Rachel sighs. "Not at all. As I said numerous times, you were wonderful. I just took some notes on aspects that could be improved. You can take them or you can leave them. I don't care." It worries me that she sounds so defeated. I make a note to talk to her about that later.

Kurt and Mercedes exchange a look. They seem to do that a lot. I wonder if they are two aspects of a hive mind and they need eye contact to connect. I also wonder if they heard Rachel's uncharacteristically defeated tone. If they did, they say nothing and sit themselves in their usual Glee seats and start chatting quietly, eating their lunch.

Santana, Brittany, and Quinn make their way in. Don't they have better places to be than in the choir room with a bunch of losers? I thought they were the head cheerleaders and the most popular girls in the school. It becomes apparent that it was Brittany's idea to hang out here when she skips over to Rachel and flops herself down on the floor, leaning against my legs. I play with her hair gently. Santana sneers at Rachel but doesn't say anything. I pause in my hair stroking when Quinn sits two seats away from Rachel, tentatively, slowly, and Santana sits without argument. Well, she stops arguing when Quinn's ice-dagger glare is sent her way. In fact, she sits almost meekly then.

Rachel seems mildly interested in whatever Brittany is talking about and I'm glad that my blonde student is drawing my sister out of her own created depression. Wait – depression? I scowl at the term I pulled out of nowhere. I know that she is withdrawing and that she is tired and listless but _depressed_? I hope not.

Finn also arrives, accidently tripping over a chair or two, and gives an extremely smooth nod and wink to Rachel (note well: please read the last comment with extreme sarcasm). I pull myself out of 'his' chair with disgust and move over to my own seat (Brittany moves as well, but just to the other side of Rachel – still talking – and calls Santana over so she can rest on her legs) pulling out my book and read for the rest of lunch, keeping a wary eye on my sister. There's nothing to worry about – she is calm and nice and polite and complimentary and no one is being mean to her. Still…it's a sister's job to be worried and I do it well.

That afternoon's rehearsal is nothing special. The only thing worthy of note is that Mr Schuester completely forgets that Quinn had been suspended for a reason and welcomes her back with open arms. I sigh. So much for talking to her about her behaviour, Schuester.

Friday's rehearsal – Completion of Part One of Plan 'Rachel is Kickass Awesome – Fuck Yeah' – is soon upon us. I sit in my chair and pull out a book but after only a few minutes I am interrupted.

"Excuse me, Miss Jo?" I look up at Vampire Girl (aka, half of goo-goo eyed kissy-face Asian couple/Tina) and raise my eyebrows.

"It's just Jo, Tina."

She smiles. "Right. Jo. We," she gestures at herself, her Asian boyfriend, Cyborg, and Gay Boy's boyfriend, but I gather that she's talking about all of the Gleeks in her inclusive 'we', "were hoping that you would help us with some vocal exercises again." She looks hopeful behind all the Goth make-up and I frown.

"Look, Tina, it's not really my job. I only did it last time because your teacher was quite late." She exchanges a look with her Asian boyfriend, the dancer (I really should learn his name sometime) and turns back to me.

"We think he is going to be late again today Miss Jo. Mike," (aha!), "and I saw him talking to Miss Pilsbury on our way here." A cacophony of groans and chairs scraping as people throw themselves into them with exclamations of 'great!' and 'again?' erupts. I shake my head, completely lost.

"Who is Miss Pilsbury?"

"She's the student counsellor. Mr Schue is totally in love with her." I frown.

"The ginger neat freak," Brittany says sweetly. I nod to her in thanks. I've seen her around.

"And you all think that he will be there for a long time?"

"Yes." Rachel says it rather matter-of-factly. "And even if he wasn't, he'll be of no use to us when he gets here. He'll be too high on 'life is grand' and won't critically evaluate the performances that _he_ assigned in the first place." No one disagrees with her. They actually nod and make small noises of agreement. I shrug.

"Alright then. Up on your feet kiddies."

"Hold on Jo." Finn looks angry in that way of his – you know the one. The one that makes him look kind of constipated. I sigh and turn to him with a smile that I might give to a three year old, if I ever wanted to smile at a three year old. I doubt that I would – they have the annoying tendency to be disgusting and not at all cute.

"Actually, it's Miss Corcoran, Mr Hudson."

He blinks, confused, but shrugs. "I think we should wait for Mr Schue." Santana beats me to the punch (of smacking down Finn).

"And if we wanted to listen to what you have to say, Lurch, we would have asked you." She smiles sweetly at him and leans forward in her chair – no doubt to deliver her evil awesome with as much weight and precision as possible. "Now, why don't you sit still and try and be as _small_ and _quiet_ as possible until we need a big, stupid giant to, oh I don't know, eat some goats or something. Okay?" Santana flashes another grin and leans back in her chair. She waves imperiously at me to continue. Finn scowls at her but turns to Rachel, pouting, and I want to kill him when I see that she has to restore his deflated ego. I smile at the fact that my tiny little sister has to strain to reach his shoulder, patting it in sympathy and that she obviously has to keep from laughing at Santana's comment.

"Santana, that was mean." I say it without any reprimand at all. She smirks and I make every effort to keep an answering smirk from off my face. Looks like we are fine again. "Now, if everyone _else_ is in agreement, on your feet." We move through three exercises and I glance at the clock. Mr Schuester is twelve minutes late. Screw this.

"Right. Obviously he isn't going to be here anytime soon. Anyone have anything prepared along the lines of his assignment?" No one moves. Everyone avoids eye contact. "I'll take that as a 'no' then." That gets a few smiles (except from Finn, who is still sulking). "That's fine. Does anyone have something they want to perform that _isn't_ part of the assignment? An homage to a favourite artist? An original song? Anything?" Partway through my speech I see that Finn has draped his arm around Rachel again and I have to swallow some bile. I have a flash of brilliance – some people call it 'general idiocy', others call it 'planning without any sense of foresight or acknowledgement of consequences', so you can see why I like to call it brilliance. It's quicker to say, just rolls off the tongue. Still, the idea strikes like lightning and I can't control the grin that spreads across my face.

"In that case," seeing as no one moves or says anything, "I want each of you to pick a song that you want to sing to someone or you want to sing on behalf of someone." There are a few confused looks and I roll my eyes. "Okay. Say for instance, and this is _highly_ unlikely I'm sure, maybe one of you thinks that a certain person in our midst is what some might call a bitch." A few brave people swivel to look pointedly at Santana. She scowls. "You might want to dedicate a song to her along the lines of 'She's a Bitch'. " They don't look too certain and I add a remark that I'm sure will tempt some, if not all, of them. "If you all have a song prepared by Monday, I will perform as well."

There are a few sceptical glances. I know that most of them think that I can't sing and that I'll be awful but I know that they all want to hear me sing despite that. Puckerman is the only excited one – I remember telling him that I wasn't bad – and Rachel is looking at me with a calculating expression. Wondering, no doubt, how good I am. She's such a devious little thing sometimes.

"Deal?" There is a flurry of nods and I smile. "Okay then. In that case, why not have a little fun until Mr Schuester arrives?" I turn to the band and they chat quietly for a few moments before playing something that I personally don't recognise. Mercedes, Kurt, the Unholy Trio (sans Quinn), Rachel and Tina leap up to dance and the boys reluctantly bob their heads in time to the beat. I watch Quinn for a moment and it becomes abundantly clear that she is avoiding eye contact with me. For now, I think that it is for the best. I'm not sure what I'd do if she tried to talk to me. Sure, I don't feel great that she was suspended for the week but she did hit me and then tell everyone else to hit me. She's not exactly at the top of my 'people I desperately want to befriend' list.

I watch with a proud smile at Rachel's easy deliverance of off-hand compliments. (I had her practise with her dads at home all week. At first Hiram and Leroy were slightly bemused by the way Rachel would say 'your hair looks nice' or 'your handwriting was exceptional on that shopping list daddy' but they let it slide. I think they quite like it actually.)

"That was fantastic Santana. I've always appreciated your raspy tone, which is rather reminiscent of Amy Winehouse." Santana stops singing in favour of gaping at Rachel, when my sister brushes past her to sit with Finn. After a second, Santana's eyes flicker to me and I smile what I know is a huge, smug smile. Santana nods slowly and shrugs. Brittany tackles Rachel in a hug then dances off again

"Rach, are you alright?" Finn lays a great, dirty paw on Rachel's arm and she smiles quizzically up at him.

"Yes, of course I am Finn."

"Are you sure? It's just that, you know, you usually…" he gestures incoherently with his hands. "Give speeches and stuff and not tell people that they're good. Are you sick?" Rachel's right eye twitches very slightly and I have the urge to cackle maniacally. Finnocence is going _down_. Hopefully.

"I'm not ill. I have recently been informed that some of my behaviours, while they were delivered with the best of intentions and I meant no ill will, have come across as harsh and unwelcome." Finn frowns dopily at her.

"Oh come _on_ Finnessa. Get a brain. Jo told her she was being bitchy when she _constantly_ told us we couldn't sing." Santana sneers at my sister's rather unfortunately stupid hopefully soon-to-be dumped boyfriend and I suppress another grin. "Now she's acknowledging that we're awesome." Rachel smiles nervously over at the cheerleader, nodding.

"No one asked _you_ Santana." Finn glares at her and I move over, hopefully to intercept any violence. I hold up my hands.

"Hey, break it up kiddies. Finn, leave Rach alone. She isn't sick. Santana, leave Finn alone. It isn't his fault that he's a little slow. Rach…" I nod to her. "Good work." Santana grins at me and Brittany dives in again to hug Rachel. Rachel is practically glowing with excitement but, after a few minutes, I realise that she is starting to mope and fall back into her slight depression.

I snag my sister after rehearsal, taking her from Finn. "She'll be coming with me, thank you Mr Hudson. Say your goodbyes now." He scowls at me and drags Rachel a few feet away so he can talk to her privately. From the combination of her crossed arms and his steadily reddening face and emphatically flailing limbs, I gather he is trying to convince her of something. Finally, he stomps away and I sidle up next to my sister.

"Isn't he a little too old to stomp around and throw tantrums?"

"Yes." I gnaw on my lower lip, worried. She isn't giving me much to work with…something is definitely wrong.

"I thought people outgrew tantrums when they are six or seven." She doesn't say anything. "Well, he could at least try and throw a decent tantrum. That's just weak." She tries to glare at me on behalf of her boyfriend but it doesn't make much of an impact, lacking any kind of disagreement. Also, I don't think she cares enough about it (or anything) to muster the appropriate level of emotion, which is precisely what I wanted to talk to her about.

"Come on Rach, let's go home." I match her brisk step with a somewhat more languorous pace – ah, the benefits of long legs! – and stuff my hands deep into my pockets. I imagine I make the perfect image of a troublesome youth, a delinquent if you will, with my hoodie and somewhat hunched posture, my pale skin and shifting gaze. Unlike most delinquents though, my shifting gaze can be attributed to my desire to stay _out_ of trouble, rather than to make it. Rachel, on the other hand, is the epitome of a confident schoolgirl as she strides through the corridors. Her new dark navy jean shorts complement her skin tone nicely, set off by a simple white tee and a rather nice knitted jumper. She looks young and composed and my inner Shelby gloats at the fact that her daughter is still so much better than I, despite the amount of time we've spent together. I can't help but agree with inner Shelby (there is a first time for everything, you know). I'm glad that I haven't, you know, corrupted her. The thought gives me a sense of satisfaction. Not only has she not been corrupted, she is free of any influence Shelby-wise. Despite what my mother might think, I believe that makes me a pretty good sister.

"Jo?" I blink and realise that I am standing with my hand on the handle of my car. Rachel is looking at me, concerned. I smile at her and shake my head.

"Sorry Rach. I'm off with the fairies today." She frowns but nods acceptingly. _We all have those days_, she seems to be saying. I pull out of the car park and glance over at her; she's a sad little presence in my passenger seat. I don't pressure her to speak, but I drive more slowly than I am used to and, when our turn comes up, I don't take it. I just keep driving and I know that she notices but she doesn't say anything. I keep driving, sure that she will speak to me when she is tired of the silence, she feels like she has to talk, or the consumption of petrol gets too much and she feels guilty and makes me stop destroying the planet.

"I'm tired of this Jo." I raise my head slightly so I can look over at her but still focus on the road. My silence prompts her to keep talking. "I'm tired of everyone hating me. I knew that it wouldn't change everything in the first week but I'd just hoped that _something_ would change." She laughs bitterly. I don't like it. "Who were we kidding? No one will ever like me, Jo." I stiffen. I never expected this kind of talk from her.

"I like you." She makes an 'of course' helpless kind of gesture. "That's not true Rach. A lot of people don't like their siblings at all." I tap my hands lightly on the steering wheel as we, again, return to our street. I don't turn in again.

"You missed our turn."

"Yes. We are going to drive for a little while."

"That is a selfish and unnecessary waste of petrol."

"Yep. I am solely responsible for global warming." To humour her, I pull over and turn off the car. I turn to face her. This is better anyway, at least for me. I get to see her face and her emotions.

"Even if I do get some friends, they won't like me for me. They'll like me for this person you've created. Like Brittany." This is one worry easily dismissed.

"Don't be stupid," I say brusquely. Sometimes you just have to be direct and cut through the bullshit that teenage girls make up. "I haven't changed anything about you."

"But the clothes, the singing, the compliments…" she argues.

"Rach, you never _liked_ the clothes you used to wear. They were solely due to the fact that you got slushied, weren't they?" She nods. "And you like these clothes, right?" She nods again and opens her mouth, no doubt to try and fashion some other kind of argument. "No. Shut up. I'm not done. As for your singing, I haven't changed anything. I just pointed out that some people might find it annoying. I haven't slapped a gag on you have I?" She shakes her head. "And you compliment people all the time. It's not your fault that everyone is sensitive and too stupid to figure out what compliments are. I just helped you to try out some more…widely accessible compliments, that's all." I tilt my head to the side and poke her in the shoulder to get her to look at me. "See? It's all you Rach. I haven't changed anything. Do you feel any different? Is it so hard to listen to people and then talk? Is it hard to restrain yourself from insulting people?" She smiles and the tension in her shoulders dissipates somewhat.

"No. I suppose not. Thank you." I nod easily.

"Anything else?" She hesitates but I don't hesitate poking her. Literally. I poke her in the shoulder until she bats my hand away.

"Quinn hasn't spoken to me. She said she wants to be my friend but she hasn't spoken to me in a week."

"She _was_ suspended because she had a role in beating up your sister." She sighs.

"Yeah, but-"

"Rachel!" I gape at her. "I was beaten up!"

"And you're fine now, right?" I nod reluctantly after a moment. "And are you severely traumatised?" I consider telling her about the slightly more vivid and frequent nightmares but who am I kidding? I would never tell her that. I shake my head no. "Then maybe you can tell her that she can talk to me now?" I sigh.

"Fine." She beams and reaches over to hug me.

"Thank you thank you thank you!" I laugh and ruffle her hair.

"No worries kiddo. And for future reference, Brittany likes everyone. The only reason she hugged you today, though, was because she had express permission from Santana." I grin over at her. "Santana likes you now." I smile at her dumbfounded expression. "So, what do you want to do now?"

She considers. "I'm still feeling a little emotional. Can we eat some ice cream?" I scoff.

"Of _course_ we can. I bought two lots yesterday." She eyes me sceptically and I roll my eyes. "Okay, okay. I bought three. Two vegan flavours and one normal flavour. So sue me, I like the normal ice cream too. Jeez. "I reach over the centre console and pat her hand gently. "Come on kiddo." I pull out on to the street and head back to her house. "Let's go home."

**Hey people! At the time that I am writing this, I have 106 followers and 45 favourites. I'd love more than three reviews from you lovely people (although the reviews that I have been getting are fabulous! No disrespect intended.) I hope that you enjoyed this chapter – and just one note: the reason they had an abnormally high number of rehearsals was 1) because I needed to fit all of this into one week and 2) because Schuester knew that Coach Sue would be back soon and so he tried to stuff as many rehearsals in as possible while she was gone, just in case you wanted to know. Okay then, I hope you all have a fantastic day and happy reading, readers :)**


	23. Chapter 23

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Twenty-Three**

**Glee is not mine.**

**Hey guys, I wrote you a long chapter this week because I went of holidays and had no Internet access so this is my apology. I hope you'll enjoy it. Oh, and text speak: To Rachel Berry*: **_Sup Jew Babe. This is Puckasaurus. Let's go do badass stuff._ **Got it? Wonderful. **

JO POV

On Monday morning, I walk into the choir room five minutes early. The instant I do so, I can tell that something is wrong.

There is a silence that I am not accustomed to and do not associate with the choir room. More often than not, people will be singing. No one is. More often than not, people will be dancing. No one is. More often than not, there will is laughter or chatter or some other physical manifestation of excitement. There is none of this.

Instead, as my foot passes over the threshold of the choir room, I am overwhelmed by the crackle of uneasy static, the kind that passes between enemies (and people with _intense_ unresolved sexual tension)– a low, soundless hum of energy. I hesitate but lower my foot. It lands with a slight thump, loud in the silence. I continue like this into the centre of the room. The skin between my shoulder blades begins to itch and prickle down my spine and down my arms. I can feel the hairs on my arms standing on end and I scowl. I am feeling very uncomfortable.

"Okay, what the hell is going on?" Unbeknownst to me, my voice has decided to come out low and dangerous. All eyes turn to me. I see that the room is divided into two groups – Rachel and Puckerman on one side, the rest of the Gleeks on the other – and I automatically move to join my sister. I rest a hand on her shoulder and forcibly lighten my tone. "Rachel? What's going on?"

She smiles at up me, apparently unconcerned by the level of hostile energy. She _is_ in show business, so maybe it is a good thing that she has such a thick skin.

"We have a new member," she says. I raise my brows. What? Glee is the pit of Loserville – no one joins Glee. She nods to someone behind me. "It's Ka…" She stops herself, frowns apologetically, and starts again. "It's Dave." I spin around.

"Dave?" He has squished himself into the far corner of the room, which is probably why I hadn't seen him, and looks extremely uncomfortable.

"Hey," he grunts. I smile and nod.

"You didn't tell me you wanted to join." He smiles weakly.

"I didn't want to tell you." He lifts his shoulders slowly and drops them after a moment, the left slightly before the right. Shrugging, I realise, is very different for giants. They have to do things more carefully than us normal people. "I wanted to audition first but they won't let me."

Finn sneers at Dave, his normally dopey and placid face ugly with rage. "Of course you can't audition. We aren't _stupid_, Karofsky." Dave frowns at Finn, who glares right back.

"Whoa, okay guys. Relax." I hold my hands up and take a step in between the pair. They are pretty far apart but I don't want any violence. I'm hoping that upsetting their line of sight will cool volatile tempers and, in Finn's case, save the lives of some innocent chairs (I've heard stories. Poor chairs). Time for me to play mediator. "Dave, why don't you tell us why you want to join New Directions?"

He shrugs – probably _not_ the best start for convincing these dramatic types. "I like music and the Glee Club isn't as…"

"Gay?" Blonde Fish Lips sneers. Dave flushes and coughs uncomfortably.

"Right. It isn't what I thought it was." I nod slowly. "I can sing too, you know? I just don't in front of other dudes. Or girls." He gives me a phantom smile. I can see flickers of his normal funny, easy-going attitude (around me, at least) but he seems very uncomfortable. I turn to the Gleeks.

"Okay then guys. Why don't you want Dave to join?" I think I already know the answer but I have to ask. As I thought it would, Finn's face twists with fury and he moves a pace closer, fists clenched at his side.

"He's an asshole!" Eloquent, Finn, really. Very eloquent.

"Finn," Kurt starts. Strangely enough, he is giving Dave a considering look.

"Kurt! He totally harassed you and now you're on his side?"

"Well, he was the face of the Bully Whips for quite some time. He _apologised _Finn." He is still nervous though, that much is clear from the way he is eyeing Dave, and it angers Finn.

"This is bullshit!" He kicks a chair and sends it flying across the room. Brittany yelps and jumps out of the way and it skids to a halt about a metre from her. Santana turns almost apoplectic with rage but Britt holds her back. Finn doesn't even notice. "This is so stupid! He's an asshole."

"Hey!" Dave frowns at Finn, his eyes cutting to where Kurt and Blaine are sitting, before returning to Finn. "Cut it out, Hudson. I'm here, aren't I? I'm trying to change so give me a break." He scowls fiercely and crossed his arms. Finn takes three steps closer and looks close to shoving Dave when Kurt stands.

"Finn, please sit down." He does. "Karofsky-"

"Dave. Please." Kurt nods after a second.

"Okay. Dave. I think that we might be more willing to let you join if you would explain why you _really_ want to join. You don't want to join just because you can sing. Okay?" He takes a step back when Dave meets his eyes, back into the protective huddle of his supporters – his brother, Mercedes, and his boyfriend, as well as the other Gleeks. Dave nods slowly, eyes on the ground.

"Right. Yeah. Right. Okay." I tap the floor with my foot in a gentle reminder. I'm not sure what it is supposed to mean – focus, perhaps? He looks up at me, takes a deep breath and, fortified, continues. "Right. Why I want to join your club. Well, I like singing and the dancing stuff at the halftime show last season was really cool. But also, I mean, the truth is…" Rachel and Puckerman and, surprisingly, Kurt widen their eyes. I have a little more control than that but I am extremely surprised. Is he really going to tell them? "I met someone really cool earlier this year and that's Jo." I roll my eyes, equal parts touched and amused – it's nice of him to say that, and I'm amused that _that_ is the truth he is going to tell the Gleeks.

"She kind of beat some sense into me and she's really brave. She doesn't care that people know she's gay 'cause she told me that being gay is only a little part of who she is." He looks right at Kurt and smiles a little. "I couldn't see past the fact that you were gay Kurt, and I hurt you, and I'm really sorry. I'm so freaking sorry." His voice cracks and his face is lacking any of the normal defensive pretence (you know, the kind that everyone has? That mask everyone wears because they _think _that they are fine but they don't realise that they aren't. Not really) and unnaturally vulnerable.

"I know," Kurt says softly. "You've apologised enough, Dave."

"No, I haven't. I can't apologise enough for what I did. I hurt you so badly that you went to another school." He takes another deep breath and throws his shoulders back, standing upright and strong. "I was scared," he states. "I've had time to think about it and I'd really like to make things right. That's why I want to join Glee."

"What? Punishing yourself?" Finn tries to sneer but it falls short a little and just looks stupid.

"No." Dave tries to smile at the other members of Glee but they, with the exception of Rachel and Puckerman (though Puckerman is still somewhat suspicious), are all looking at him with slight mistrust. "It's not a punishment. I really do like singing. I just, I want to join so I can help you. I've fought with you guys for two years now and I've given you all kinds of crap for being braver than I am. Kurt, I hurt you the worst. I know that." Kurt sniffs. Is he_ crying?_ "I just wanted to say that I think I've changed and the first thing I want to do to prove that is, well, I want to say," he hesitates, screws his eyes shut, and grimaces. "I'm gay."

The choir room is silent for all of two seconds before people start screaming and yelling and threatening. Dave retreats to his corner. I go with him. Rachel is in the thick of things and Finn is right next to her. Santana, strangely enough, has fixed Dave with the most gobsmacked expression that I have ever seen.

"What's with Santana?"

"She knew," he murmurs back. "Guess she didn't think I would say anything." He looks a little green around the mouth and I wince.

"Do you need to throw up?" He nods slightly and I jump for the trashcan, handing it to him. He keels over, retching loudly into the bin. The others stop the commotion immediately so that they can stare at him.

"Ew, gross." Brittany crinkles her nose. "Do you want some Dr Pepper? It'll make you feel better because I'm fairly sure he's actually a doctor." Dave stares at her for a split second before shaking his head weakly.

"No thank you."

"Okay then." She shrugs and sits down calmly.

"Can I have some gum though?" Santana chucks a whole packet at him.

"Don't you dare come near me until you've chewed through _all_ of that, got it?" He nods.

"Thanks."

"Whatevs." She flicks her hand at the Gleeks. "I say we let him audition." She shrugs.

"Me too!" Britt bounces in her seat, only stopping when Santana lays a hand on her thigh and shakes her head. "Yay Dave!" Dave waves back when the ditzy blonde waves at him, now steadily chewing his way through peppermint flavoured gum.

"I have no objections," Kurt says quietly. Blaine just shrugs warily, and Mercedes hums.

"As long as my boy Kurt is okay with it I'm fine. But I will _hurt_ you if you hurt my boy again, got it?" Dave nods frantically in the face of Mercedes's fury. "Okay then. Show us what you got, Karofsky." Finn looks like he is about to say something both stupid and angry, so Rachel distracts him.

I hand Dave my water bottle so he can wash his mouth out. "I, well, I heard about the assignment Jo gave out so I asked Rachel to help me with a song. A, a performance piece?" He looks at me and I nod. "Right. A performance piece. And I know that you have to sing it about someone or to someone and I want to sing this to you, Jo, 'cause you've changed everything about me and yeah. Thanks." To my horror, I feel myself blushing and I glower at him.

"I don't think so, Karofsky," I growl. "Sing about someone else." Rachel beams and grabs my arm, waving Dave forward.

"Sit down, Jo. You will not ruin this for me – I mean, for Dave. We've worked on this all weekend and he's really very good." I sigh and sit down in the front row. Dave drags a stool over to the centre of the room and looks over at the band, who nod back to him. Brittany tugs on Santana's hand and they come to sit next to me. Quinn follows silently and sits herself next to Santana, while Finn skulks off to the corner, upset that Rachel isn't backing him up.

"Okay." Dave smiles weakly and looks like he's about to throw up again. "Here I go. This is The Shins 'Fall of 82."

_I do relate to you in so many ways/ But I didn't go through what you must have in those early days. / You had to be strong at such a very young age_. I force myself not to flinch because I know that he can't possibly know what I've been through. He can't possibly – these are just lyrics in a song that he likes. It's some other words that he identifies with, not these. I make myself relax and listen because he really is quite good.

_A new life on lemonade__**/ **__So won't you listen to me now__**/ **__There's something I never told you__**/ **__and I'm about to try._ He directs these words to the whole of Glee Club. Kurt sniffles again and his boyfriend wraps an arm around his waist, tugging him closer and offering a handkerchief, which is taken with a watery smile.

_See, you were my lifeline when the world was exploding. / You moved back in with us in the fall of '82/ I fell into dark times and you were there to help me through./ You told me that a downturn will eventually improve/ And you were right, so I'm thanking you. / So won't you listen to me now/ Something I never told you/ And I'm about to try. / See you were my lifeline when the world was exploding/ Footholds eroding. / Had you never been my friend/ I wouldn't be quite what you see/ I wouldn't be the man I am._

_Sister, you've known me/_ Rachel joins in as his back up, with a tiny little smile at the words she is singing. _**Sister you've known me/**__ Lost in a strange world/__**Sister you've known me/**__ What has it shown me? / __**Sister you've known me/ **__What has it done for us__**?**__ / __**Sister you've known me/ **__Sister you've known me/ __**Sister you've known me/ **__Been lost in a strange world/__** Sister you've known me/**__ What has it shown me? /__** Sister you've known me/ **__What has it done for us__**?**__ /__** Sister you've known me/**_

_October chill in that old dusty town/ Halloween came I was still feeling down/ Mama lost my sweet tooth/ What's the point in going round? / Your boy is losing count/ Maybe try the lost and found._

There is a surprised silence before Kurt erupts into enthusiastic clapping. He jumps to his feet in a spontaneous standing ovation and Dave blushes. Yes, my awkward, football-playing, jock friend starts to blush.

"That was wonderful, Dave." Rachel smiles at him, beams really, and Dave grins at her.

"Thanks Rachel. That means a lot coming from you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Finn scowls at Dave and steps in front of Rachel. Dave scratches his hand, smiling awkwardly.

"I dunno. That she's really good at singing? And, no offence Rachel, I heard you don't give out too many compliments."

"Eh, she's getting better," Santana remarks off-hand. Rachel smiles at the ground. She looks up from her nails and purses her lips. "You're alright. I say we let him join." There is a very quiet murmur of agreement and only Finn speaks out against it.

"No! No way!" I sigh. "Come on guys, he's a dick." He turns back to Dave and crosses his arms. "Get out of our choir room." Dave takes a hesitant step towards the door but I lay my hand on his arm.

"Stay there, please, Dave." He stops. "Finn, stop being a big baby. What exactly do you have against his being here?"

"He's a dick!" He yells and Santana snorts.

"Well, you're still in New Directions aren't you?" Finn turns with a pout to Rachel, who takes a pointed step away and sniffs, nose in the air.

"Say something," he hisses to her. She turns back to him with dangerous eyes.

"Excuse me? You don't say anything when people pick on me even when it's not remotely true. I have no objection to Santana's comment. You are being a dick and now you're being a baby." She crosses the room to stand on the other side of Dave, ignoring her boyfriend's dumbfounded expression. "As the captain, I propose a vote. All those in favour of allowing Dave to join?" All hands other than Finn's make their way into the air, reluctantly or otherwise. She nods decisively. "The majority is yes. Congratulations Dave," she shakes his hand, "and welcome to the New Directions."

"Uh, thanks."

"Okay guys! Everyone ready for – oh!" Mr Schuester pauses in the doorway and frowns at Dave. "Hello." Dave nods to him.

"Dave is a member of the New Directions now, Mr Schue. We put it to a vote and he has auditioned. I find him to be a quite admirable addition to our club." Rachel flashes her blinding smile and hooks an arm through the crook of Dave's elbow, tugging him to sit next to her. Kurt purses his lips, stands, and sits on Dave's other side in a silent show of support. Mr Schuester runs a hand through his hair.

"Well, um, okay. Kurt, are you alright with this?" Kurt nods, sending his teacher a look that says '_clearly'_. "Great! Welcome to Glee, Dave!" He beams at the boy expectantly, who turns to me with a bewildered expression. I touch my index fingers to my cheeks and gesture for him to smile.

"_Smile back_," I murmur. He does, hesitantly, and Mr Schuester claps his hands together.

"Wonderful! So, who wants to perform next?" Brittany flings her hand into the air and practically jumps out of her seat. "Um, okay. Take the floor then, Brittany."

She frowns at him. "Take it where?" He sighs.

"Never mind. Your song, Brittany?"

"Right!" She jumps over to the band and whispers in the bassist's ear. He smiles gently at her and nods, making her squeal. "Yay! Okay, this song is for Santana because it's fun like her and super badass. Also, it is super cool. Also, because she's super brave and awesome and it's all about being the very best and she totally is. Play it please." The bassist strums the guitar, nods at the others, and they start to play. I laugh out aloud at the song. She is singing the Pokémon theme song.

Santana gives Brittany a tiny smirk when she is done and Brittany flings herself down on the seat next to her. They don't say anything and Santana is even staring straight ahead but they stealthily link pinkies at their sides and Brittany beams at Mr Schue, who looks, as per usual, dumbfounded. A little like his favourite student – except that Finn is, currently, still pouting in the corner.

"Anyone else?" Mr Schue is surprised when everyone (except for Finn) puts their hands up, eager to sing. "Okay…Um, well, we heard Mercedes, Rachel and Puck last week, so I guess Blaine?" Blaine smiles and jumps up from his seat.

When he reaches the front, he turns to face the Gleeks with the single-most intense expression I have ever seen. I think it's his eyebrows. They lend a dark, mysterious, heavy aura to his face and it makes it very…intense. There really isn't another word for it. "Kurt," he smiles tenderly over at his boyfriend, "this is for you." The heavy, thumping opening of the song – a love song, clearly, but I don't recognise it – makes me smile. Kurt does more than smile. He practically melts, swoons, into his seat as Blaine serenades him. _That is so sweet_. Rachel gives me a look that is a cross between 'aren't they cute and a silent squeal. They are adorable together. Even I can acknowledge that, even if I'm not a huge fan of Kurt – mostly because of the way he treats Rachel. Blaine finishes with a bow. We all shuffle outwards so that Blaine can pull a chair over to Kurt's left side and kiss his cheek.

Sam sings next, a song for Quinn. I watch as he dances and sings for the Ice Quinn, and I frown very slightly. Well _this_ throws a wrench in the works (ruins my plan). I didn't account for the fact that Quinn might have a boyfriend…damn. Maybe I should just give up on the whole 'Rachel really likes Quinn' thing and let her figure it out for herself? Then again, what kind of sister would I be if I didn't meddle a little?

I watched Quinn as Sam wound up his song – I don't even know what the song is, I am thinking so hard – and am pleased with my deductions. She doesn't look very interested. Polite, yes, but really not swooning like Kurt had. That's good, right? I mean, if she _were_ romantically interested in Sam, she would be swooning – right? This is important because I'm not going to try and get Rachel and Quinn together if she's fixated on some boy. I wouldn't dare let Rachel get her heart broken like that.

The sharp ringing of the bell calls me back from my thoughts and Rachel purses her lips thoughtfully at me. "You okay?" she murmurs. I give her two thumbs up and a small smile and she rolls her eyes. "Come on, let's get home. Daddy has something he wants to show us." I groan.

"I swear Rach, if it is another cake I don't even care that he is your daddy – I am going to choke him on the cake. I've gained, like, ten kilos since I got here." She tuts.

"I happen to agree. If it's another cake, I'll distract him and you can throw it away. I'd rather hurt Daddy's feelings than have you go to jail."

"Oh no, I wouldn't go to jail. It would be justifiable homicide and I'd get off with a few hundred hours of community service."

"I'm not sure that's how it works," Rachel protests and I slip a hand over her mouth.

"Just go with it kiddo." She peels my hand away.

"Or what?"

"Or I will ruffle your hair." She pulls her arms up to cover her head, glaring at me, and I smile innocently. "So?"

"Okay fine. You'll get off with a few hundred hours of community service." I let myself smile smugly at her and she shakes her head despairing. We are about to leave the school when I hear two pairs of feet running to catch up. I spin around to face our followers.

"Britt? Santana?" Santana nods to me but focuses on Rachel.

"You walk pretty fast for a midget. I thought you wouldn't get far because of your little legs but I was wrong." Rachel frowns and plants her hands on her hips.

"I find those nicknames very insulting, Santana."

"You're supposed to, Hobbit. They're insults, not nicknames." I scowl at Santana.

"Come on Rach, let's go." Santana sighs.

"No, wait."

"_What_, Santana?" There is a little bite in Rachel's voice and Santana looks surprised. It's rare, I would think, that Rachel talks back to her, or to anyone. "What do you want?" Santana still looks surprised but she grabs Rachel's hand and tucks a small piece of paper into it. Naturally, Rachel lifts her hand and opens the paper in full view of any lingering eyes. "What's this?"

Brittany rests her chin on Santana's shoulder and peeks down at the paper. "It looks like a phone number. Sanny," she pouts at her friend, "did you give her your number?" Santana shakes her head gently so she doesn't displace Britt from her shoulder, and scoffs.

"Please. Like I would give Manhands my phone number." Rachel's lips tighten against the insult.

"I _have_ your number, Santana."

"So do I," I remark. "Actually, all the new kids are given it. Did you know that if we ever get a text form you, we are expected to drop whatever we are doing and follow your commands immediately on pain of certain death?"

Santana smirks.

"Whose number is it, Sanny?" Santana loses her smirk and looks slightly ill.

"Whose do you think it is, Britt-Britt?" Instead of the adorable, thoughtful thinking face I am used to coming from Brittany, she rips her head away from Santana's shoulder, crosses her arms, and frowns thunderously at Santana.

"Santana Lopez. Tell me that isn't Quinn's number." Her tone brooks no disagreement.

"Um…" Rachel and I watch as Santana is reduced to a cringing shadow of her normal, terrifying self. "It might be?"

"Santana! You were supposed to give that to Rachie on Wednesday!" Brittany scowls fiercely and Santana winces. Luckily for her, Brittany turns to Rachel and smiles brightly. "Yay! You have Quinn's number now!"

"But…" Rachel looks down at the slip of paper in confusion. "And no disrespect meant in the face of this generous gift but I _have_ Quinn's number." Santana heaves a sigh, now recovered from Brittany's glare.

"Everyone has Quinn's number, RuPaul." Rachel scowls. "But _that_," she points a perfectly manicured finger at the paper, "is an invitation to _use_ that number." Brittany nods to validate Santana's declaration.

"But I've used her number before." Rachel says, confused, and Santana growls.

"Yeah, at 6 am on Sundays so you can organise fucking Glee rehearsals that we don't want. _That_," she now jabs her finger, as if hoping that being more emphatic will help Rachel's ability to understand what she is trying to say, "is…_ugh_! Britt? A little help?" She turns to Britt, who beams and attacks Rachel in a hug. She then proceeds to squeal with excitement.

"We're friends now!" She jumps – literally jumps for joy – pulling Rachel with her. Santana waits for a count of three before tearing Brittany away from Rachel and down the hallway.

"Wait!" Santana stops at Rachel's command and turns with a growled _what_. "So…I can text Quinn now?"

"Duh. Or call. That's what a phone is for." She leaves the 'dumbass' silent, but we all hear it. Santana goes to leave again but Rachel throws up a hand to stop her.

"Wait! And," she gestures between the three of them. "We're…_friends_ now?" Santana's scowl doesn't lift one iota.

"If you continue with this shit, then no. But," she looks Rachel up and down. "Your fashion doesn't make me want to throw up anymore and Jo has stopped the amount of time your voice grates on me and Quinn told me to be nice so," she shrugs, "whatever. I guess so." She then smirks. "It didn't hurt that you let Finnocence cry this afternoon." Rachel flushes and Santana cackles. "Whatever Hobbit. Later Jo." I nod. She turns to leave_ again_.

"Wait!" This time, Santana sighs and her shoulders slump. Brittany giggles at the expression on her friends face.

"Quinn," I hear San say, "I am going to kill you when I get home." She turns around. "_What_, Berry? This had better be good." Rachel looks to the ground, all of her courage apparently gone. "I can't hear you, Berry. Speak the fuck up." Rach gulps and raises her head so she is looking at her former enemy.

"I said, I mean, I'm sorry that I was rude to you. When you first followed me this afternoon." She smiles tentatively at the Latina and shrugs. "You were really nice and, um, thank you." Strangely enough, Santana looks like she is almost blushing but she tosses her tight ponytail and spins on the balls of her feet, immediately threading her fingers between Brittany's and tugging her friend after her as she walks away.

"Whatevs, Hobbit. Later." She disappears around the corner. "Oh!" She reappears. "Don't tell Quinn that I didn't give you her number. If you do, you will pay. Big time." She says it sweetly, so sweetly, and Rachel gulps in terror. Even I shiver a little at her smile. When we are sure that she is finally gone, we release our breaths.

"She scares me," Rach admits in a low murmur. I nod in agreement.

"Yeah but she's like that hypnotic snake from the Jungle Book. You know it's going to kill you but you just can't look away." We wait and watch the place that she disappeared and don't hear the person approaching from behind. A huge hand comes down on our shoulders and we shriek. Well, Rachel shrieks. I grip the hand tightly, twist, and dig my nail into the web between index finger and thumb. My attacker yelps and yanks his hand away, clutching it to his chest.

"Oh, sorry Puckerman." He frowns at me, probably because I don't sound sorry. At all. He inspects his hand closely for a short while before grinning at me.

"Hey no worries. No blood, no foul." He shrugs. "'Sides, I probably shouldn't sneak up on you."

"You're only just _now_ figuring that out? Well done, Noah." Rachel shakes her head disparagingly. "She's done that _how_ many times since you've met her?" He takes a moment to think about it.

"Five." He inspects his hand again. "Still hurts like a bitch every time though." I shrug and hold my hand out expectantly. He places his huge palm into mine and I rub my thumb over it, checking it out. I drop it after a second when I see he's just being a wuss and I've done next to no damage.

"It wouldn't be much of a deterrent if it didn't hurt, would it?" He smirks. "I expect that it'll hurt every time after this one as well, Puckerman, especially if you persist in attacking me because I will hurt you worse if I think that you are doing it on purpose."

"_Attacking_ you? I touched you on the shoulder. I wasn't attacking you!" I shrug.

"Maybe you should cough or something in the future. Or announce yourself before you enter my personal space." His lips turn down in a contemplative look.

"I can do that." Rachel groans. "Yeah. How about – Puck is in the building! No, no, wait. All hail the Puckasaurus!" He frowns. "Maybe, The Puckster is here! Puck is ready to fuck!" He shrugs. "Eh. I'll think about it." He wraps a beefy arm around Rachel's shoulder and then goes to do the same to me, thinks better of it when I glare at him fiercely, and slips his hand into his pocket. "So, what did Satan want?" Rachel beams up at her sweet, Jewish friend.

"I've got Quinn's number and I am now friends with Santana and Brittany and I am now allowed to use their numbers for reasons other than organising rehearsals on behalf of Mr Schuester. Isn't that wonderful?" Puckerman nods, uncertain.

"Sure. Sounds great, Jew Babe." Rachel rolls her eyes at the nickname but practically skips her way down the corridor. "Is she really that happy about getting Quinn's number? I could have given that to her ages ago." I nod absently but my mind is very suddenly focused on something that Rachel told me a few days ago…

I walk slowly next to Puckerman as we follow Rachel to my car, wondering exactly how to broach the topic. "She is excited about it. But, speaking of you and Quinn, guess what I heard the other day Puckerman? A little rumour about you and Miss Fabray and a baby. Know anything about that?" Puckerman pales and swallows thickly. "I thought that Puck was all about the 'loving' and not the 'fathering children'. I would have thought that Puck would be more careful about things like that." He pales further as I get more and more angry and I start hissing my words, wrathful. "I would have thought that Puck would have some modicum of respect for women and not knock them up when they are still in school and force them to make unbelievably difficult decisions when they are still in their teens! So tell me why the fuck you think I should let a pathetic, lecherous, cretin like you near my sister?" I spit the words and jab him hard in the chest.

He holds his hands out in front of him to protect himself. "Whoa, Jo. Calm down!" I know that I look a little wide-eyed and wild with anger because he genuinely looks terrified. He also looks like he's trying to tell me something important so I pull my fury back a little and cross my arms. "Look, Jo, I got it taken care of." He shifts uncomfortably before pointing discreetly at his groin. "You know? It's cool." I frown.

"You mean, little Puck?" He scoffs.

"Not so little." I growl.

"It will be if it goes anywhere near Rachel, capiche?" He nods frantically and I punctuate my statement with a snarl, glare and a flick of my hair as I stride away. I may not be a Berry but I can sure as hell be dramatic when the occasion calls for it.

"It wasn't just Quinn's, you know?" I stop midstride. He sounds…defeated. "Beth was mine as well." I turn back to face him and he isn't Puckerman anymore. He is Noah. "I know it wasn't my decision and I couldn't have asked her to keep Beth but…she was mine too, you know? The only thing I've ever done right. And I failed her." He snarls and punches a locker, groaning in pain when it hurts. (Who'd have thought punching a metal locker with your bare fist would hurt?)

"Noah…" He shakes his head.

"Don't. I know that you think I'm some deadbeat and I'm going to drop out of high school. I'm useless. I know that. I've got a record and I sleep with a bunch of girls. I'm an asshole." I wince. This is making me uncomfortable. The only person I am any good at reassuring is Rachel.

"Noah…"

"Don't, Jo. I failed Beth. She's going to grow up thinking that her dad didn't care about her and I'm going to end up as some deadbeat loser like my father." He spits the word 'father' with such disdain and I realise that he's never mentioned his father before and I suppose this is the reason why. He doesn't have one. Or, rather, he doesn't have one that he's proud of.

"Noah, please shut up." Rachel's voice is so loving that we both visibly flinch. "You are not a deadbeat or a loser and there is no way that I will let you drop out of school." My sister walks forward and wraps her arms around his waist. "You are my best friend in the whole world Noah and you are a very good man and, when the time comes, you will make an excellent father." Noah hugs her tightly. "Now," she says, voice slightly muffled by his chest, "let's get home so that I can text Quinn because I left my phone on my charger this morning." She extracts herself and marches resolutely away. Noah and I salute her back, smiling at each other.

"Yes ma'am!"

RACHEL POV

Quinn wants to hear from me. She gave her best friends permission, nay, _ordered_ them to befriend me. This means something, right? I lightly touch the slip of paper that Santana gave to me, even though I don't need it. I have Quinn's number saved into my phone after all, but I like to look at it. It is a physical representation of the suggestion._ Call me_, it says to me. _I want you to call me_. That isn't written on the paper. It is that little voice that I hear inside my head that tells me to do stupid things – stupid things that will allow Quinn to make fun of me when I figure out that this is just some joke but that I want to do anyone, just in case.

My hand trembles as I reach for the phone. I hold it tightly for a few seconds and let the bedazzled case dig slightly painfully into my skin. _This is real life_, the pain tells me. It's like being pinched to make sure that it isn't a dream. This is real life, and Quinn Fabray wants me to call her. I don't think I'm brave enough for that, however, so I settle for a text.

**To Quinn Fabray:** _Hello Quinn. I have been informed that you were expecting my textual communication. If this is untrue, I apologise and will henceforth cease communication. Awaiting your reply, Rachel Berry*. _

I wait for her reply anxiously. My fingers tighten on the phone as each minute goes past. It feels like an eternity before she replies but it is really only four minutes.

**From Quinn Fabray:** _Hey Rachel. Yeah, I want to talk to you. You don't have to be so formal, relax._

I let out a breath and try to stop from squealing. She _does_ want to talk to me! But I'm being too formal…I bite my lip and look up at the door. I could ask Jo to help me construct my messages but… I look down at the screen and smile. I'm making a friend. Jo has helped a lot with our little changes and I'm feeling so much more confident about being, well, me and I just want to _try_. I text back.

**To Quinn Fabray: **_I will try. What did you wish to discuss?_

**From Quinn Fabray:** _It's about our friendship._

My heart falls. Of course she doesn't want to be friends. She was just being nice. But her apology seemed so heartfelt and I really thought she wanted to be my friend. Who was I kidding? I type out the message slowly, hating myself more and more as I write each word.

**To Quinn Fabray:** _I understand, of course. It can be discontinued. I will not bother you again. _

I press send with a shaking finger; I fling my phone to the end of my bed and flop down opposite it a second later. I'm a loser and I will always be a loser. That's just the way it goes. My phone, surprisingly, buzzes straight away. It's probably just going to say something like 'haha you got your hopes up loser Berry' or something like that. I don't want to look at it. But, of course, I do.

**From Quinn Fabray:**_ No! That's not what I meant at all! Rachel? Do you want to not try and be friends?_

My heart is in my throat. I got it wrong. I got it _wrong_. I've never been so happy to be wrong before. My fingers are typing out a message before my brain, exultant as it is, can catch up.

**To Quinn Fabray:** _I apologise. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I would very much like to attempt to create a friendship with you._

**From Quinn Fabray: **___Please stop apologising. I'm the one who should be sorry. I can totally understand why you would think I meant that and I'm sorry._

I smile at the message. Sorry. She said she was sorry twice. Quinn Fabray, Head Bitch at McKinley said sorry to me, Rachel Berry, Loser.

**To Quinn Fabray:** _If it is not the discontinuation of our friendship that you wish to discuss, may I enquire as to the topic of conversation?_ I swear under my breath. Stupid Rachel – she wanted you to relax and be less formal.

**From Quinn Fabray: **_How would we be friends?_

**To Quinn Fabray:**_ What do you mean?_ I am aware that I am frowning at my phone.

**From Quinn Fabray:** _Well, what do friends do?_

**To Quinn Fabray:** _I assure you; you have far greater knowledge in that department. Thanks to you, I've never had any._

The moment I send it, I feel the urge to cry. This is it: my first friendship (other than with Noah, but that doesn't count because we go to Temple together) is ended before it even begins.

**From Quinn Fabray:**_ I'm sorry._ What? I hasten to reply.

**To Quinn Fabray:** _As am I. I should not have said that. _

**From Quinn Fabray:**_ No, it's fine. I did kind of actively discourage people befriending you._

**To Quinn Fabray:**_ Perhaps, but you were not the sole reason I didn't have friends. I am well aware that I have a grating personality and that I am loud and opinionated. I am working on that._

**From Quinn Fabray:**_ What do you mean?_

**To Quinn Fabray:**_ I am attempting to stop these behaviours in an endeavour to make friends._

**From Quinn Fabray:**_ What?! Why?_

**To Quinn Fabray:**_ Because I want friends._ I wait patiently for her reply – honestly, it seemed kind of obvious to me – and jump when my phone buzzes.

**From Quinn Fabray:** _But those people won't be your friends Rach. They'll be the friends of the slightly less opinionated and slightly less loud Rachel who, in my opinion, isn't as cool as her predecessor. _I blink at my screen.

"Rach?" I jump. "You coming down for dinner?"

"Go away!" I call out and I can hear that Jo is standing at the door.

"You okay?"

"Yes! Go away!" I can almost _feel_ Jo shrugging as she walks away, as well as the wave of overwhelming curiosity. She's like that. She likes to know everything. I type out a reply to Quinn, slightly shocked by what she'd said.

**To Quinn Fabray:**_ Thank you for that Quinn. It means a lot to hear you say that/ to read that. I feel the need to inform you that I am not completely changing myself. I am simply toning my extremely dramatic side down a notch and listening to people. It is quite interesting and I have learnt many interesting facts already. For instance, did you know that Mercedes has two little brothers?_

**From Quinn Fabray:**_ Yes. I lived with her for a little while, remember?_

**To Quinn Fabray:**_ Oh. Of course. Sorry._

**From Quinn Fabray:**_ Don't worry about it. Anyway, about your transformation. Just remember that I like you just the way you are and so do all the other Gleeks. _My breath catches in my throat.

"Rachel? Sweetie? Are you coming down for dinner?" I hear Daddy calling from the foot of the stairs.

"No! Go away!" She likes me? We are friends. She _likes_ me! I squeal and bounce up and down a little on my bed.

**To Quinn Fabray:**_ Thank you for saying that Quinn, but I cannot agree with you that the other Gleeks like me at all._

**From Quinn Fabray:**_ Sure they do. They really admire and respect you._

**To Quinn Fabray:**_ Neither of which is associated with 'liking', as I am sure you are aware. Not only because you are intelligent but because I am sure you have come across similar instances of admiration and respect in your time as Head Cheerio._

**From Quinn Fabray:**_ True. _I flip over onto my stomach and pull a pillow towards me and can't quite control my smile. My first friend!

**To Quinn Fabray:**_ I think we've done quite well._

**From Quinn Fabray:**_ What?_

**To Quinn Fabray:**_ You said that you didn't know how friends acted. I assume they discuss issues that are personal and give advice and reassurance and talk well into the night. As it is now 10:37pm and we have done all of those, I think we have succeeded._

**From Quinn Fabray:**_ Oh wow. I guess so. _

**To Quinn Fabray:**_ You can make a list, if you would like, about the activities you do with Santana and/or Brittany and we will choose the ones we would like to do together. I will make a similar list. _I beam at the ceiling, now on my back. It's a great idea.

**From Quinn Fabray:**_ Sounds like a plan. _

**To Quinn Fabray:**_ good. I find this an acceptable place at which to end the conversation. I am now 42 minutes behind in my sleep schedule. _

**From Quinn Fabray:**_ Oh! I am so sorry! _

**To Quinn Fabray:**_ Don't worry about it._

**From Quinn Fabray:**_ Hey, look at that. You're talking like a teenager. Goodnight Rachel._

**To Quinn Fabray:**_ Goodnight Quinn. Sleep well._

**From Quinn Fabray:**_ You too :)_

This time, I really couldn't stop the squeal and Jo knocked on the door again. "Rach, what are you doing up this late? Aren't you behind on your sleep schedule?" I don't really want to answer any of Jo's questions, probably because I'm feeling a little guilty that I'm talking to and befriending the girl that was behind my sister's attack, so I answer with a question of my own. Jo doesn't like answering questions.

"Are you going to sleep at all tonight?" I wait for an answer but she doesn't say anything. She taps the door twice, which I imagine is her way of saying 'touché', and I hear the tap-tap of her bare feet heading to her room. I let out a breath and collapse onto my bed. I should go to sleep but…I have the undeniable urge to go and start on that list of friendship activities. I jump out of bed and start up my laptop, opening a window on the Internet.

_What do friends do together?_ I pause. That could probably give me some really inappropriate answers. I backspace and start again. _Activities for friends. _And then, naturally, I spend the next hour making my list. I need to hand this to Quinn tomorrow. I don't want her thinking that I'm a bad friend!

**Okay guys. Super long chapter, yeah? I hope that you enjoyed it. Reviews are appreciated (thanks for all the reviews you guys sent this week and a big hello to all my new followers). Happy reading, readers :)**


	24. Chapter 24

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Twenty-Four**

**Glee is not mine.**

**Please enjoy.**

QUINN POV

I am standing outside Rachel Berry's house for the second time in two weeks. I hope no one sees me here. Russel would throw a huge tanrum if he fond out that I've been inside 'those freaks' home'. That thought alone makes me want to tap dance my way inside – anything to infuriate Daddy dearest – but I am still outside and no where near ringing the doorbell. Why? Because I have no clue what I am doing or what I intend to do or what I _want_ to do. Everything is slightly confusing.

As usual, when everything becomes too much, I stop still and analyse: a trait that has served me well in my time as the Head Bitch. I have brains and strategy on my side. That's why I'm so amazing. Okay Fabray, I think. _Let's do this. _

So, Fabray. You are here to?_ Befriend Berry_. For what purpose? _To…have a friend. Duh._ No backchat missy. Wait – you have Santana and Brittany. What do you need Rachel Berry for? _One can never have too many friends_. Trust me, when you have Rachel Berry as a friend you _do _have too many friends. Why the fuck would you want Berry?_ Because I do! And because she has a _star_ on their _letterbox!_ Who does that? She's weird and annoying and hugely talented and really nice and brave and –_ and devious? Are you forgetting that she is a no-good boyfriend thief?_ Please. It was Finn Hudson. You can't really be angry with her for that._ No. Admittedly I am mostly sorry for her…_ Right. So, we're going to be friends with her?_ Maybe. We'll see. If she annoys me, then no. _Hey! Hang on. She annoys you all the time. At least put a limit on how annoying she can be. _Fine. If she annoys me to the point where I want to tear my hair out and stuff it in her mouth to shut her up. Deal?_ Deal_. But seriously, why Berry? Sure, you've tormented her for years, and you made yourself into the bane of her existence for all of our high school lives, but why now? _She's intelligent and kind and talented and _really, really annoying! Seriously. Why are you ignoring that fact? _Oh just shut up. _

I pull out the list she gave me and shake my head. I don't know what planet the girl came from but, actually, no. It's not that she's a freak. I think it's just that she isn't used to having a friend, or a potential friend. All of the suggestions are actually kind of normal.

**Activities for Friends to Do Together:**

Board Games

Singing

Texting Each Other

Baking

Having Meals/Coffee Together

Movie Nights

Sleepovers

Shopping

Talking to Each Other

Sharing Likes/Dislikes/Interests/Hobbies/Hopes and Dreams

Do Homework Together/Help Each Other With Homework

Giving Gifts to One Another

Learning About Each Other's Family and Friends

Scrapbooking

She gave me the list this morning and, honestly, I'm not really sure what to do with it. Once upon a time, I would have flushed it down the toilet because that was pretty much what I did with anything that Rachel Berry gave me. Today, however, I folded it carefully and kept it in my pocket until lunch when I could look at it undisturbed. Also, I'm not really sure what to do with the suggestions. I've never, _ever_ had to work at having friends since after I became Quinn. As Lucy, yes, but that was so long ago I don't remember anything of it – and I didn't have any friends. I don't mind suggestions number three and number six, because they are easy but 'learning about each other's family and friends'? I don't like talking about that kind of stuff with anyone, even Santana or Brittany, let alone someone I hardly know – like, oh I don't know, Rachel Berry.

Knowing Rachel as I do (and I do. I mean, you can't torture someone for years and not know anything about them.) she would just say 'but that's how you get to know someone: by talking about the things that you wouldn't normally talk about'. She's really interested in 'bonding' and 'being a family'. She talks about it a lot in Glee. I, on the other hand, would rather stick with the safe questions like favourite colour and what animal I would be if I had a choice. (Answers: blue and definitely a puppy dog. They are the most spoiled creatures in existence and they have so much fun.)

But thinking seriously now: Rachel is a hyperactive and intense person. I can't help but wonder…am I up to being friends with someone like her? True, it probably isn't the best time to be thinking about this, standing outside of Rachel's house as I am. You know what? I'm going to run away (retreat, thank you very much). I'm good at that.

"Oi. Fabray. You just going to stand there all day?" I spin around and come face-to-face with Jo Corcoran. She is struggling (and pretending that she isn't) with a pile of papers and a bag and a laptop and I step forward to take the papers from her. She lets go reluctantly but takes the opportunity to move her laptop to her left hand and shrug the bag back onto her shoulder. She digs in her pocket with her right hand for her keys.

"Well, come on in then. Wipe your feet." She waits until I am inside and then kicks the front door closed behind me and jerks her head for me to follow her. I do. Up the stairs and past Rachel's room. Jo pauses at Rachel's door and, smirking, taps it with her knuckles. "Rach? Quinn is here." There is a bump of something dropped or falling, sounds of something scraping on the floor, some more unidentified bangs, and a flurry of noisy activity. Jo chuckles and motions for me to follow her again, further down the hall to her bedroom.

My mind goes into overload the moment I step into her room. A glorious, nirvana-like overload. The bookshelves are full – absolutely full, no room left, books pressed tightly against each other, you would have to struggle to rip one out they are so packed in kind of full – and I deviate towards them immediately. Then I see the elegant reading chair. And the typewriter. And the piles of bound pages on the desk. And the pens and the charcoal and the paints and then I see Jo's face as she watches me inspect her room.

"Having a good sticky beak, Fabray?" I lower my head, mumbling apologies, and hold the papers out towards her. She takes them and dumps them on her desk chair. "So what are you doing here?"

"I, um, Rachel invited me." She nods slowly and turns away to open one of her desk drawers. She isn't looking at me but she hasn't said anything so I keep talking. Well, babbling like an idiot. "She wrote me this list of things that friends do together and I think it's a pretty good idea since I've never had to think about being someone's friend before and this makes it easier and harder at the same time, you know?" My voice goes up at the end – due to it being a question and slightly due to nerves." She blinks and pulls out a packet of mnm's from the drawer she was looking through.

"What? Oh, I wasn't listening to you Fabray. I'm not your therapist." She frowns at me thoughtfully and pops an mnm into her mouth. She then crosses her arms. I can feel my own arms lifting to curl around my waist protectively. It's a habit that I haven't quite managed to lose from my, from the pregnancy.

She stands fully upright and gestures to the door. "You can go to Rachel now if you want. You know where her room is." She is being remarkably civil for someone that should, by all rights, hate me. All in all, added to my already confused and hesitant state of being in Rachel's/Jo's house when I'm not sure _why_ I am in the first place, her politeness is making me nervous so I smile and back slowly out of the room. (What? Her room is full of sharp and potentially life-threatening implements. Pens, pencils, scissors – plus, I swear I saw a knife on her person…) Once I'm out, I turn and flee down the corridor and make it to Rachel's door just as she is opening it and stepping out into the corridor. We run smack bang into each other, both of us falling to our arses with an 'oomph' and a thud. I stare at her; she stares at me.

"Hi."

"Hi." We stand and then loiter awkwardly in her doorway for a while.

"So…" she starts. "Did you get my list?" I nod. What do I do? It's never awkward with Santana. She just opens the door and says 'come on in bitch' and then we watch a movie or some TV and eat food. Hearing the word 'list', I pull it out of my pocket and hold it up in proof, but she isn't looking at me. Well, she is looking at me but not at my face. She's looking at my clothes.

"You look lovely, Quinn." I smooth my hands on my dress. It's just a dress and cardigan.

"I didn't have Cheerio practice so I changed first. Is that okay?" _Is that okay? Why would you even ask that? How is changing not okay?_ She smiles. Awkwardly. Shit, this isn't going well.

"You look very nice. The blue of the dress complements your eyes and the shape is extremely flattering of your figure." I blink.

"Rachel, those aren't really things one generally tells a new friend." She blushes and starts to stammer but I wave a hand. "It's alright. I'll teach you."

"Then what will I teach you?"

"How to not be a bitch?" Rachel glares over my shoulder at her sister. Jo drops her hand on my shoulder and smiles widely. It's not a nice smile. It's an evil smile. "You kids have fun now," she drawls. "I'll be in my room if you need me. Just text." Rachel continues to glare at her. I try not to glare at her but I don't know how successful I am. Sure, I accidently had her beaten up but does that really mean she can call me a bitch?

Probably.

When Rachel is finished glaring her sister back down to her room, she turns back to me. "Did you find the list helpful?" I opened it. The sides are crinkled and the folds are in risk of tearing because I've folded and unfolded it so much today.

"Yeah." Wow, way to go Fabray. Conversation thus far: stilted. Body language: nervous. This has been a roaring success.

"Do you want to do something?"

"Sure. Should we start with, um, number one?"

"Board games!" Rachel's face lights up suddenly and, just as suddenly, falls. "We need more than two people to play board games. I'm sorry. I didn't think of that." I shrug. "Number two?" There is a bang from the room next to Rachel's and we jerk our heads to the side.

"If number two is singing – and I know it is because I read the list over Fabray's shoulder – then _don't you dare_!" Jo yells from her room. "I have two homework assignments to go over and a report to write for Principal Figgins and I swear that if I have to come out there and tell you guys to shut up you will not like the consequences!" Rachel and I share a look and bond instantly over a fear of her sister. Well – mine is a fear, albeit slight because she's never actually hurt me, of her sister, and Rachel's is a fear of losing her sister.

"Well, we texted last night," Rachel continues in a hushed tone (apparently taking her sister's threat very seriously), "so do you want to bake?" I stuff the list back into my cardigan pocket.

"Sure." She leads the way to the kitchen. As we cross the threshold, she turns to face me and I stop.

"Quinn, before we begin, I have to ask you why you are doing this." I frown. Seriously? She has to ask me the one question I'm asking myself and I don't have an answer for?

"I don't know." She looks a little disappointed with the answer and I reach a hand out but stop before I can actually touch her elbow. My hand sort of hovers in the area just around her elbow for a brief second before I bring it back. "I'm sorry but I really don't know." She nods.

"You told me," she looks to the floor and back up again. Looks more determined. "You told me last night that you liked me for who I was. Did you mean that?"

"Yes," I say before I can really even think about the answer. I shock myself with the ease with which I say it. "I think you are really talented and smart and not nearly as annoying as I used to think you were." Rachel blinks. "I didn't mean that in an offensive way. I just mean that you've relaxed and it's a lot easier to like you now."

She smiles. "That's Jo's fault, you know?" I frown. What? "My 'transformation' as you called it last night. Jo told me to relax. That's really all there is to my 'transformation'. I just have to listen to people and not be quite as loud with my opinions. It's nothing bad." I let out my breath slowly. I feel…relieved, like a problem has been solved. I didn't even know that I was worrying about that. Oh, wait, that's a lie. I was extremely worried that Jo was being a manipulative bitch and making Rachel into a strange form of herself.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay." She peers up at me and I feel the need to wipe my hands on my dress again. "So…baking?" She squeals and practically skips into the kitchen. That's cute.

A solution pops into my mind quickly and I smile. Of course! I just need to make a list of pros and cons about being friends with Rachel and that will help me decide whether I actually want to be _friends_ friends with her, or just friends that don't insult each other in the hall. I'll just add to the list as we go along. There's no need to list everything right this very second.

_Pro No# 1: She does everything with either intensity or joy…something both. _

When I make it into the room – slowed by my internal musings – she already has all of the baking ingredients out. I pick them up and frown at them.

"Rachel, these aren't vegan." She stops and stares at me. "What?"

"You…remembered?" It's my turn to stare at her.

"Of course. Everyone knows that you are vegan and I mean_ everyone_. You've given the vegan speech like ten times in the cafeteria." She beams at me.

"Animal rights are just as important as human rights!" I bite my lip to stop from arguing with her but she notices. "What?"

"Well…not that I'm saying you are wrong but I would honestly prefer that human rights are taken into consideration before the animals." She pauses.

"That's true."

"What?" She frowns quizzically.

"What?"

"You agreed with me. About human rights over animal rights. You've been trying to convince us all for years and you just give up?" She crosses her arms.

"I did_ not_ give up. I am simply acknowledging that you have a valid point and that I should take that into consideration as well." She tightens her arms and sighs. "I'm sorry."

I rub my forehead. I always end up with a headache when I'm talking with Rachel. "Why are you apologising now?"

"Because…I don't know," she admits with a little smile.

_Pro No# 2: She is always smiling. _

"Well then don't apologise!" I shove past her into the kitchen and grab up an apron. She giggles when I put it on and I look down at what I've put on. It is pink and frilly and utterly not me. "Okay, no. I'm not wearing this. Swap with me." She is full on laughing now and I glare at her. "Give me your apron now, Berry!" I hold out my hand to her and she weakly shakes her head no while laughing. "_Berry_." She retreats and I'm now wondering how on earth it is that she can laugh for this long.

A shoe flies down from upstairs and hits the doorframe of the kitchen, shocking Rachel into silence. "Shut up!" We glance up at the ceiling in the direction of Jo's voice. "You've been here for like three minutes! How can you possibly already be so loud?" She doesn't actually sound angry and Rachel starts laughing again.

"Do you want your shoe back, Jo?" There is a short pause.

"Yes please." Rachel grabs the shoe and smiles at me.

"I'll be right back. Can you start with the cupcakes?"

"Fine, but I'm getting out your vegan ingredients. Is that okay?" Rachel beams and nods before trotting off with the shoe. Jo sure acts differently outside of school…she acts like a normal person, rather than a teacher or slightly reserved friend. I might actually like her as a person, which sucks seeing as I indirectly had her beaten up…

"Are you ready?" Rachel returns and I turn to her with a little smile. "Quinn! You haven't moved at all." She tuts and starts spreading out the ingredients, grabbing the vegan ones from the fridge, and peers at the recipe. "Okay, so it says," she slaps her forehead lightly and steps away from the recipe book. "I'm so sorry. You can do this."

"What?"

"You can be in charge. It's fine." She smiles and points to the book.

"I don't understand."

"You can be in charge." She squirms a little as I stare blankly at her. Probably because I'm using my Head Bitch stare that I use to get losers to tell me things…

"Okay." I try to put it out of my mind but it is a little difficult when she keeps telling me that I can go first or I can be in charge or anything like that. "Okay, Berry, what are you doing?" Rachel's face falls a little and she leans tiredly against the kitchen bench.

"Was I a little too obvious?" I nod.

"Sure. Obvious at what?"

"I was just trying to put you at ease! Last time you came over you knew what you were going to do and it wasn't really awkward at all."

"Except for my panic attack." I chuckle lightly and look away. She smiles but it wasn't really funny.

"Except for your panic attack. It's just, I know that you and I, well, we aren't accustomed to mutual friendliness so I googled how to put people at ease and I found out that if-"

"You _googled_ how to put me at ease?"

"Well, no." She frowns stubbornly. "Not you specifically. But I did google how to put people at ease and I found that most people are comfortable when they are in a familiar situation so I thought that if I made tonight something where you could take the lead then maybe you could relax and maybe you would still want to be my friend by the end of it." I can't help it. I start to laugh. True, it is night on hysterical but at least it is laughter rather than tears.

_Pro No# 3: She always tries to make things perfect._

_Con No# 1: She always tries to make things perfect…_

"What?" She stamps her foot and folds her arms across her chest. "What, Quinn?"

"It's just that to be honest? You were completely right." She beams. "But the 'familiar situation' here is that you are being insane, not that I am in charge." Her face falls and I mentally kick myself. "Oh! Oh no, no, I didn't mean that as an insult." I wince. "I'm sorry. I just," Rachel is shaking her head.

"Don't worry, Quinn. My own fathers tease me worse than that." I blink. What? I thought her fathers worshipped her and would never, ever speak ill of her. "What?" She asks in response to my silence/expression (no doubt dumbfounded). "Mine is a normal family, Quinn. We tease each other and have fun and fight just like everyone else." She sounds a mite defensive and I manage a smile.

"Yours doesn't sound like a normal family." I bite my lip for the briefest second before making the first move – and by that I just mean that I offer a little information that I wouldn't have originally. "Most families just fight all the time." I meet her eyes to show her that, yes, I do mean my family. Her eyes soften and her arms relax out of their stiff defence.

"Well." She glances over the recipe. "If we work fast, we can get these done in half an hour and then, um, well." She shuffles. "Since we've established that we _are_ trying to be friends," she looks up just to make sure and I nod, "and that you weren't mocking me and I've relaxed a little, we could watch a movie?" I smirk at her.

"Sure Berry. Funny Girl?" She glances away, unsure. Unsure? Rachel Berry, unsure? That's not a word I would use to describe her very often. Increasingly so tonight but before now, never.

"I was thinking we could watch Despicable Me." I smile a lot more naturally. I love that movie. Still…

"Honestly Berry, I was kind of excited to see what you loved so much about Funny Girl." She pauses in her dolloping of the mixture – whoa, how did she get there so fast? – to gape at me.

"You haven't seen Funny Girl?" I shake my head no. "But…but I've been telling you – _all_ of Glee – to see it since, since forever!" I shrug.

"I never got around to it."

"Clearly." She dollops more vigorously and shoves past me to place our vegan cupcakes into the oven. I wince.

"Sorry?" She turns sharply to frown at me but says nothing. Instead, she pulls out her phone and taps away and then grabs my wrist, tugging me into the next room. She shoves me down on the couch.

"Right." She strides over to a cabinet that, I find, is the DVD cabinet and, without seeming to even have to look for the disk, Funny Girl is immediately in her hand. "Pay close attention. This is the greatest movie of all time." She pops the disk into the DVD player and grins over at me. "We can watch Despicable Me afterwards, yes?" I nod and shrug. I have nothing better to do tonight. She squeals and claps her hands, jumping onto the couch and sits with her legs tucked underneath her. She reminds me so much of Brittany in that moment that I relax into my cushion. _She's just like Britt_, I tell myself, _except that she is a completely different person. But other than that? Exactly the same._

The movie night goes really well actually. I can't agree with Rachel that 'Funny Girl' is the best movie of all time – in fact, we get into a huge argument about it. I insist that anything with Audrey Hepburn in it is better than any other movie and she refuses to listen past 'so you think Audrey Hepburn in _any_ movie is better than Barbara Streisand?' and my 'yes'. As it always is, we have a dramatic argument only, this time, rather than it being hurtful and ending with a slap, it is kind of fun and mostly teasing and challenging.

"Fine!" I had had enough of her insistence that Barbara's 'Funny Girl' is _exquisite_ and _unique_ and _the most wonderful movie of all time_ and throw down the metaphorical gauntlet. "Next week, same day, same time. I will bring my movies and you will watch them and we'll just see if you don't fall in love with Audrey Hepburn!"

"Fine!" We are nose-to-nose at this point and, after a second, Rachel pulls away and laughs. "Want to watch 'Despicable Me?" I nod eagerly but my stomach takes the opportunity to grumble.

"Oh, sorry." I blush a little. _So unladylike_, I hear my mothers voice reprimand me.

"You're sorry?" Rachel stares at me, aghast and I blush harder. "_I'm_ sorry. I completely forgot to feed you!" She bounds away, leaving me to look at the place where she had been. She bounds back after a minute, with a pamphlet in her hand. "Do you like Chinese?" I nod. "Okay." She runs to the stairs and slides to a stop in her socks. "_Jo_! Chinese for dinner?"

"Yes please!"

JO POV

Quinn stayed for a few hours at our house last night. It didn't bother me as much as I thought it would. I even ended up watching a movie with them. And the cupcakes were fantastic. She left a few minutes after the movie (their second, I think) finished, having received a text. She practically raced out of the house. Rachel didn't notice but I did – what is wrong with that girl?

And that was my Tuesday. I didn't manage to get to sleep until three am, but that's what you get for leaving your homework that late. Or, in my case, what you get when your students leave their homework that late. And Wednesdays? Wednesdays are always fun. It's the middle of the week and Brittany is always lagging a little by now. She will arrive late to class and usually has homework that she's forgotten to do but, for some reason or another, that hasn't happened this week. I'm super excited. It is _definitely_ due to the fact that I am an amazing teacher, not just some fluke (sarcasm).

Actually, and honestly there is no sarcasm in this statement, I'm feeling really good about the way that everything is going. Brittany's grades have picked up quite well, most of the other kids that I tutor are also doing a lot better than they were, Puckerman is feeling confident with his work, and Rachel is well on her way to popularity stardom due to her befriending Quinn Fabray. The Glee Club is progressing nicely as well and I feel, all in all, that I'm on top of the world. I can only hope that thinking these words isn't going to be the catalyst that will bring cosmic karma smashing down upon me with the force of an avalanche.

Naturally, it does.

"You. Corcoran." I freeze and turn slowly. I don't know this voice. I take in a tall woman who is wearing a red Adidas jumpsuit, with bleached and short blonde hair, and I nod to her.

"Hello." She eyes me and opens the door next to her which I haven't really noticed at all this term – other than the fact that no matter what time it is there will always be a Cheerio standing outside of it. Guarding it, almost. The best guard was Santana. She would just lounge there and look at her nails or check her phone and the students would practically press themselves against the opposite wall or use an alternate route to get wherever they needed to go. It was fucking intimidating. Very impressive.

"Please, enter." She sends the current guard scurrying away and my eyes widen. _This_ is Sue Sylvester? I follow her, not because I'm intimidated or anything like that, but because I am insanely curious. (And if you fucking mention 'curiosity killed the cat' I will kill you.)

She sits herself down in a very comfortable looking chair and peers at me from over her rectangle glasses. "Sit down. Do you want a placenta shake? It's made from the placenta of seals. I find that it keeps my skin supple and soft." I fight to keep the shock from my face.

"No thank you. I've already eaten." Until I know exactly how insane this woman is – and believe you me, I've heard plenty of stores – I will remain disgustingly polite.

"Humph." She pours herself a 'placenta' shake and I notice that it smells like watermelon. An image of her is forming in my mind but I don't dare to trust in it…not yet. "As I'm sure you've noticed, I haven't been present for the beginning of this term." She takes a long sip of the shake and locks eyes with me.

"I had noticed. There was a distinct lack of…"

"Backbone? Brilliance?" She nods and points a long finger directly at me. "You wouldn't have lasted two days if I'd been here." I smirk in response.

"I look forward to the challenge, Coach Sylvester." She waves a hand, sipping away at her drink.

"Call me Sue. And, unfortunately, there will be no challenge. I see that you have made a place for yourself as insidiously as a sexually transmitted disease." I bark a laugh at her description and I notice that she hides a pleased smile. "I have far more dangerous game to hunt." I cross my legs.

"More dangerous hunt than _me_?" I raise a brow, curious. "And what would that be?"

"That is information dispersed on a need-to-know basis." I nod. Fair enough. "Right now, I would like to know what you think about McKinley." I purse my lips. How to say this politely… "And don't bother with tact. It's so boring."

"No tact? Alright. McKinley seems to be a cesspit of chaos. The only well behaved students here seem to be the Cheerios and a very, very small portion of the others." She begins to bluster wildly.

"Well behaved? I don't know what you're talking about. My Cheerios are evil, every one of them. I should know. I hand picked them. Their parents signed contracts with me allowing me access to them since before they were born." I shrug.

"Evil or not, they are well behaved." She smirks as well.

"I would hope so. They know that I'm watching." She turns her computer screen towards me and twenty-six individual camera screens blink back at me. I look closer. Three in the gym, two in the girls locker room, two in the boys locker room, four on the football field, and fifteen strategically placed around the school. There were two in the choir room alone. I whistle softly.

"That is seriously impressive." She nods and fixes me with a shrewd eye.

"I've been watching you. You caused a fuss here of the like that I haven't seen since that time I released a smoke grenade into the homeless veterans shelter four years ago." I blink, not sure how to respond to this one. "Some pants-wetting, but mostly panic." She taps one of the screens. "Figgins was particularly panicked but he is weak in the face of strong-willed women." I grimace at the thought. "Did that offend your morals, Corcoran? Using your womanly wiles for the greater good?"

"Not really. Just the thought of using them on him." She shrugs.

"He has served his purpose before." I am about to say something when a face in the window catches my attention. From the phone pressed to his ear, I will assume that he is on the phone to his gossipy best friend. His face is pale and for once he isn't sniping about something. He looks utterly gobsmacked. I wave at him, wiggling my fingers a little, and smile. He faints. I turn back to Sue.

"Corcoran," she is looking at me appraisingly, "you remind me of a young Sue Sylvester. Only, less strikingly beautiful and slightly less devious." I shrug. I am fairly sure that that is the best compliment she can give and I'll accept that.  
"Tell me," she settles further into her chair, "what else do you think about the school? Let's start with the _Glee Club_."

I uncross and re-cross my legs. This could be a long chat.

I do end up being five minutes late to Glee and, when I arrive outside the choir room, I stop before I enter at the sound of raised voices.

"Rachel, just listen to me! She is being all buddy-buddy with Coach Sue, Glee Club's _arch nemesis_ need I remind you? And you are _still_ defending her! I can't believe you. What kind of captain are you?" Kurt crosses his arms and purses his lips angrily at Rachel. I fight off laughter.

"All I will say on the matter Kurt is that I trust Jo completely and she is aware of how much Glee means to me and wouldn't do anything to ruin it for me." She turns. I'm not sure how she knew I was there but there you have it. She knew. I smile at her as I stride into the room. I smirk at Santana – the other Cheerios must be late, weird – thinking about what Sue told me about her.

"She's a bad person, Rach!" That was Finn, lumbering in at the end of the conversation, as per usual. "Can't you see that?" He stands very close to my little sister, slightly stooped so that he can 'whisper' into her ear. Naturally, since it is Hudson, we can all hear what he is saying. "It's so not cool Rach. Since _she_ arrived you've changed your clothes and the way you talk and you _gave_ a solo to Mercedes today." I raise my brows. That was news to me. "That crazy dyke is changing you and you're defending her even though she's Coach Sylvester's…" he trails off when he can't think of the work and I (so kind of me) offer some for his use.

"Minion? Sidekick? Evil little puppet? Or maybe I am now your enemy, adversary, foe, opponent, or rival?" He glares at me and even more so when I laugh. Unfortunately for Finn, I had distracted him from Rachel's slowly growing anger. It was about to explode. I'm so looking forward to this.

"How _dare_ you, Finn Hudson?" Oh boy. I know that voice. It is low and dangerous and ice-cold. All movement and sound (such as the quiet betting between Kurt and Mercedes on how long Finn would have his, erm, _bits_ for) immediately halted so that she wouldn't turn that voice on them. I think some people even forgot to breathe. "How_ dare_ you? Jo is not a bad person. Do you even know what bad people are? Let me tell you. _Bad people_ stand by whilst their girlfriend is being ridiculed and slushied on a daily basis without doing anything to stop it or saying anything to her tormentors. _Bad people_ cancel dinner every night for a week because they want to play COD instead of meeting his girlfriends parents. _Bad people_ refuse to plan dates or compliment their girlfriends and stand by as their girl is shoved into lockers and cries in the bathroom at lunch because she is covered in meat products!" She sucks in a sharp breath and her eyes flash.

"Do you know what Jo has done for me since she arrived? Oh, and it's only been, what, a month since she started here. Guess what? I haven't been ridiculed in weeks, Finn. _Weeks_. She took a slushie that was meant for me and I suspect that she might have bribed someone to break the slushie machine." Ooh, I wish I had some popcorn… "Do you know what else she's done? Whenever she eats with me, she eats vegan as well. She has been learning vegan recipes just for me so, no Finn Hudson, I don't think that Jo is a _bad person_," she spits. I let myself smile a little at her defending me but that smile disappears the second Finn jabbers his argument.

"Oh come on Rach, I'm sorry, okay? I forgot that you were vegan. That's no meat, right? I didn't mean to feed you meat. It was an accident!" Rachel pales at his words and presses a hand to her stomach. The other Gleeks either step away or slide their chairs back. Finn _has_ to realise that he's said something wrong, surely. It takes a few moments but – yes, yes there we go – he's opened his mouth again to apologise again (I fear I am sounding redundant. Apology, apology, apology. _Boring_.) Rachel holds up a hand, though, and shakes her head in a 'don't speak right now' gesture.

"Now knowing that I will have to purge my system at that thought later, I shall nevertheless continue. I shall address your concerns regarding my changes in attire and in attitude. Who, other than you, thinks that the changes are bad?" No one moves. "Exactly. I haven't been insulted for my wardrobe – in fact, Kurt complimented me this morning. I _like_ how I look Finn and I won't let you change that because you are an insecure arse." _Bam!_ Go Rachel! "I like wearing these clothes and if you knew anything about me or even paid the slightest attention you might recognise that this is what I have always worn outside of school. I never liked having my more fashionable clothes ruined by the slushies that, oh yes, that _you refused to stop_." I grin widely and can't resist a small, teensy, tiny comment.

"Would you like some aloe vera, Hudson?" he stares at me blankly and I cackle. "Because you just got _burned_." Rachel smiles, well, her lips twitch but she is glaring so fiercely at Hudson that I don't feel too bad about the lack of reaction. Also, Tina titters nervously from the corner and I appreciate that. "Sorry for interrupting Rach. Please continue."

Rachel nods firmly and places her hands on her hips. Oh dear – Finn is in deep shit now.

"As for my recent attitude adjustment, I am certain that Mercedes and Kurt, amongst others, are thrilled by my diminished need for attention and the belief that only I can do justice to the solos." They nod eagerly and exchange 'I know that's right' with one another even as she elaborates thoughtfully. "I will add that it isn't that I feel I don't deserve the solos because I do, but I acknowledge that the suggested solo is far more suited to Mercedes range and tonal colour than to my own. Additionally, as Glee Club's captain, it is my job to ensure that we succeed as a team and I will admit that, while I am a superior vocalist, others also have marvellous talent and I have been remiss in letting these talents go unnoticed. I apologise for that." She takes a deep breath and I know what is coming next. Her eyes narrow at Finn, who had mistakenly thought she was finished and had relaxed, and her eyes flashed angrily.

"And _finally_, I will address your use of a homophobic slur and particularly its use in relation to my best friend." I can't help it – damn these Berry's, they've ruined me – I beam. It's just a little beam (is that possible, or is that an oxymoron?) but I can feel my universal bitch status slide down to 'tamed sassy best friend who is occasionally mean'. Ooh, I can't wait to hear the verbal bitch slap Rachel is no doubt about to deliver.

"Finn, as you are well aware, my fathers are gay." Very gay, I add mentally. "Your brother is also gay. I wonder why you would think that it is okay for you to use a homophobic slur? I don't care whether Jo is a lesbian-" I totally am "-but I certainly don't appreciate the connotation that being a lesbian is some kind of insult." She softens her glare but takes a step back, away from her (ex?) boyfriend.

"It is partially due to your bigotry that I must do this but also because, to be frank, you are an _awful_ boyfriend that I must call our relationship to an end. I will admit that I did feel affection for you and some feelings which I, at one point, identified as love, these feelings have disappeared and I would appreciate it if you would receive the cessation of our romantic relationship with gentlemanly grace and poise." She nods once more, decisively, before spinning around and sitting primly on her chair. For a few moments he attempts to process what she said and I move to stand next to my sister. How _dramatic_.

"She broke up with you, Mr Hudson," I inform him, "because you are a homophobic prick and she doesn't love you anymore." He clenches his fists and takes a step forward, though with his size he practically crosses the entire choir room, and I step forward abruptly, standing between him and Rachel.

"Not a step closer, Hudson." He is literally shaking with rage and I hold up a hand, which hovers in front of his chest, not quite touching him. I lower my voice. "I'm serious, Hudson. She broke up with you, which is something she is entitled to. Get over it. Leave if you have to, but you do not get to intimidate or hurt Rachel. Got it?" I can see Puckerman tensing and Santana is on her phone (yeah, thanks San. Real helpful of you). For the moment, however, I focus all of my attention on the giant in front of me.

He nods but I don't relax. I don't trust him right now. Rachel might trust him, and I probably should trust in her trust of him, but forgive me if I am a little lacking in that department. I'm used to people being complete and utter arseholes. He slams his beefy hands into my shoulders and I stagger back a few steps. Like that, for instance. Arsehole. Rachel shrieks and flies up out of her seat but I wave her back. There is no way that I am going to let him hurt her.

"Finn! What are you doing?" Rachel takes a few steps forward and I spin around and press hard on her shoulders.

"Stay! Stay _right there_, you idiot!" I spin back to face Finn, and I crouch slightly. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Hudson." He stops advancing and sneers – probably because my voice quavers. I hope he didn't think it was fear because I am so fucking angry that it takes all of my self-control to stand here and not be beating his face right now. Yeah, I have anger issues. I prefer to call them 'early preventative measures'. He laughs. I tense. This isn't going to be good. I don't want to hurt him, not really, and he's a student and I'm a tutor and I'm kind of traumatised by the last time I was attacked on school grounds. I'm still not quite healed.

"Finn, please." I squeeze my eyes shut and make a short, sharp gesture behind my back that, loosely translated, means 'shut the fuck up'. Rachel gets it and shuts the fuck up. The damage is already done though and Finn turns an interesting puce.

He moves quickly for someone so large. I don't think he's actually coming for me, he just wants to get to Rachel but, like I said, she's standing behind me. When he realises that I, his most vile and hated tutor, am standing in the way, he thrusts a fist towards my stomach. I neatly sidestep it and punch him in the jaw. I'm not pulling any punches. To do that would make me seem weak and he'd be more likely to fight on. I just want this over and done with. It's only one punch and it's mostly just a warning – which, naturally, he ignores and slams a fist into my stomach. It hurts more than I thought it would – I've been slacking on my crunches…and also, I may be a little tender from, you know, the last time I was beaten up. That might have a little to do with it.

Rachel is screaming and Puckerman is yelling and Artie is franticly wheeling away from the fight, which is now getting messy, and the others are hiding in amongst the chairs. I gesture at Rachel to join them, which she does. Puckerman jumps on Hudson but somehow he manages to slip free every time Puckerman tries to hold him still. Hudson snaps and punches Noah in the face. He falls to the ground and doesn't move. The room is silent for a few seconds and then Hudson turns and glares at me.

"What the fuck?" he screams. "This is your fault!" I gape at Puckerman's prone body and gulp. Shit. Thanks a lot universe, now it's just Hudson and me. Rachel whimpers and tries to move to Noah. I snarl when Finn takes a few strides in her direction and tackle him to the floor, pinning his arms to his sides with my legs. He flails, catching me on the chin and my head snaps back but I pin his arms with my legs and press tight.

"You don't hurt Rachel." He bucks and I press on the nerve bunch in his neck. He stops, gasping, eyes popping. I lean back, releasing him slightly so that he can focus on what I'm saying. "Rachel is off limits, Hudson. Look at her!" He does. "Look at how tiny she is! You can try and beat me up as much as you please," we both ignore the growls and the muffled swears coming from Santana, "but you should never, _ever_ try to hurt her." I flex my hand and he whines pitifully. I sigh. I hate hurting people. I can feel the dark guilt swirling inside that whispers insidiously _you are just like him_ and I shake my head furiously. I pull myself off him. I look down at him and sigh. "Come on Hudson, just get up and be a man. Apologise and we'll take Puckerman to the nurse."

I reach down to him and he stares at my hand for a second before reaching up. I smile slightly, glad that I have gotten through to his tiny, tiny brain. And then he slams a fist in my stomach and, when I bend over clutching my belly, he punches me in the side of the head. I fall to one knee.

"Fuck." I can feel blood dripping down my cheek and I press a hand to my eye. He kicks me over and I groan when my head hits the floor. My lip splits open, I taste blood and, though I'm not proud to admit it, I freak out. He turns away and I can vaguely understand that he is yelling at someone, and he shoves someone. I jump up and punch him hard in the shoulder. (I was aiming for his head. Slightly off…) While he yelps, I grab his wrist and spin him around, yanking his arm up and around so that he is whimpering in pain. He twists and turns but quickly realises that he is in danger of dislocating his own shoulder. I pull my arm back so that I can hit him in the kidneys (it hurts like a bitch. I would know – it's happened to me before) but before I can do anything, there are hands on me, pulling me away, and more hands on Hudson. I hear the click of handcuffs and feel pressure on my wrists.

"No!" I kick out and struggle against the hands. They can't possibly be arresting me. "No! Let me go!" The room is swirling around me dangerously and I stagger. Strong arms tug me upright and, when I realise that my arms are still free and flailing, not cuffed, I relax against whoever is holding me up. I hear a disembodied voice bark and I whine, pressing closer to my helper. They are so _loud_.

"Boobs McGee, good work. Help the paramedics get in here and don't let those hideous sandbags you call knockers get in the way."

A hand strokes my forehead and I yank away because that seriously hurt. Can they not see that I've been – oh god what just happened? Spots of dark cover my eyes and I stagger hard into the person holding me. I feel suddenly nauseous and clap a hand over my own mouth.

"Sandbags, Corcoran looks like she's about to upchuck. Hand her the trashcan." Cool metal is thrust into my hands and, though I can't see it, I assume that it is the bin and I vomit. God, but I hate vomiting. The hot bile rising in my throat, scratching my throat and burning, burning, my nose and my mouth. Not to mention the smell. And the sound. I hear it splatter in the bin and a few drops on the floor, meaning that I aimed badly again.

"Ugh." The voice of my helper, the girl with her arms still tucked tightly around me, says in my ear and I smile despite having just vomited, and being unable to see, and having this pounding pain in my head and my stomach. It's Santana. I feel her muscles bunch and, after a few moments, she rubs me on the back soothingly (probably learnt it from all those _totally_ legal alcoholic parties). "You okay?"

"Just peachy," I rumble. And then I throw up again. My head starts pounding again. Strange, it sounds like footsteps…Unfamiliar, rough hands touch me and I freak out. I can't see them and I flail. Santana tightens her grip and pulls me back from the phantom people.

"Fuck off!" She scolds.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but we think she might have a concussion. We need to take her to the hospital."

I try to frown – though I'm not sure how successful I am – and growl at them. "That's not necessary." My body betrays me by throwing up once more into the trashcan. "Take Puckerman first."

"Oh, I thought you'd want them to take Berry first." I still. A cold moves through my body and settles at the base of my stomach.

"Rach…He hurt Rachel?" My voice cracks and the pain in my head reaches new heights. "Yes, take Rachel first. Take Rachel now." I hear distant murmurs from what I assume are the paramedics and lean into Santana's side. "Hey, San. Can you help me to a seat?" I can feel her nodding and she grips my arm gently, leading me to a seat. "Thanks Santana."

"Whatever Corcoran." I just know that she's picking at her nails as she sits next to me.

"And whatever Coach Sue said about your sandbags," I recognise, with distinct horror, that my mouth is moving without my brains permission, "I like them." She doesn't say anything for a few seconds.

"Thanks Corcoran." She's laughing at me! The bitch is laughing at me! I open my mouth to say something but the dark swirls again and I am pitched into a state of unconsciousness.

THIRD PERSON POV

Jo slumped against Santana, unconscious, and Santana clicked to get the attention of the paramedics. While Jo was lifted onto a gurney, Santana watched anxiously, her hand automatically reaching for an absent Brittany.

Coach Sue Sylvester stood on the top riser, watching over the choir room with an overpowering presence – forbidding, defiantly silent in the face of a now-suddenly-appearing-and-frantic William Schuester, and strong. She ignored Schuester until he sunk to a chair, recognising what his favourite student had done. Three unconscious students: one with a rapidly swelling cheek (Noah), one with a nasty, bleeding gash above her left eye (Jo), and the third, small, pale and still (Rachel). His student, silent and shocked, arms cuffed behind his back, led outside by two uniformed police officers.

The paramedics moved precisely and spoke in quick, sharp commands. Jo, Rachel, and Noah soon disappeared out of sight. Tina and Mike were huddled at the back of the choir room, Mike's arms wrapped protectively around his girlfriend. Kurt and Mercedes had almost identical expressions – hands over their mouths, eyes wide. They hadn't moved at all since Finn had started his rampage, shocked at what they had seen happen directly before them.

Muted footsteps cautiously approached the quiet room. The late Gleeks, Brittany, Quinn, Sam, and Blaine, paused in the doorway.

"Guys? What's wrong?" Quinn asked, her eyes immediately seeing and settling on her coach. "Coach?" Sue uncrossed her arms.

"Brittany, go and hug Sandbags." But Brittany was already crossing the room in three long strides to her friend who looked slightly shell-shocked. They sank together onto their chairs. Brittany wrapped her arms around Santana but drew back sharply when her fingers touched something red that wasn't a uniform.

"Sanny? What's this?" Santana sucked in her breath and grabbed Brittany's hands, wiping the blood from them gently.

"San…" Quinn's already pale face pales further. "Where is the blood from?"

**There you go guys. A wildly successful (in my opinion) Chapter Twenty-Four! I hope you guys liked it, please feel free to tell me what you thought, and look forward to the next chapter. I love reviews! It's in Quinn's point of view (part of it) and there will be some Unholy Trinity friendship and maybe (hopefully) some Faberry fluff. But no loving yet: sorry! That's still a while in coming. As always, happy reading, readers :)**


	25. Chapter 25

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Twenty-Five**

**Glee isn't mine. **

**Your reviews please me :) I love hearing your impressions and things that you like – I mean, if I know what you like, I can give you more of it, right? Right. So, read and review my lovelies. Please enjoy.**

QUINN POV

"San," I say. I can hear my voice shaking, feel it, but I know that if I try to strengthen it, it will just come out strained or too loud. I let it go. I _am_ nervous – let them hear it. "Where is the blood from?"

San looks down at the small pool of blood on the floor and at her hands and her lips tighten. She hates the sight of blood. She keeps wiping forcefully on Brittany's hand and grimaces when it has decided to stay in the little creases in her hand. "Jo."

"Yeah, where is Jo, Sanny?" Santana's eyes flicker from Brittany's hand up to look into her blue eyes. She takes a step closer and wraps her hand around Brittany's, ignoring the blood.

"Britt, the blood is Jo's." Brittany recoils but Santana holds tightly on to Brittany's hand. "She got a little cut on the head and it just bled a bit. You know that the face bleeds a lot, yeah? She's going to be completely fine." Brittany doesn't look like she believes Santana. Why would she? Santana doesn't sound like she believes herself.

"San, what the hell happened?" She just shakes her head. I look to the other Gleeks but they are motionless and pale. What on earth happened? And where is Rachel? Wait…Jo is hurt. She'll be with Jo, right? I try to ignore the feeling of dread that is prickling in my stomach and look for someone, _anyone_, that will tell me what happened. It's my school dammit! I have a right to know what's going on inside of it.

"I can answer that, Q." Coach Sue steps down the risers. Mr Schuester is sitting with his head in his hands behind her – she probably attacked him about something. I pull my shoulders back and smile at Coach Sue.

"That would be helpful, thank you Coach." She nods, frowning.

"Sandbags, bring Brittany over here." Santana trots over and refuses to release Brittany's hand. Coach Sue lowers her voice. It sounds almost…soft? Hesitant. I have never heard her other than derisive, forceful, or at the very least conversational so this is shocking and does nothing to cease the spreading dread. I feel sick.

"I wasn't present for the beginning but Lopez told me that Streisand broke up with Hudson and he reacted badly. Mohawked Delinquent, Corcoran and Streisand are now on their way to the hospital." The feeling in my stomach? Yeah, it increases a hundredfold. I think my heart stops beating and I twist my mouth in an effort to keep the emotion – fear – from my face.

"Are they okay?" Coach Sue nods to Brittany and our blonde friend relaxes into Santana's side and lowers her head, pressing it into the crook of Santana's neck. It's a sign of how shocked or afraid San is that she lets Brittany do it – she doesn't usually allow PDA at school or anywhere they can be seen. But today Santana just winds her arms around Brittany's waist and lays her cheek on her head. Coach Sue meets my eyes – they are decidedly less certain of her students' safety than she had told Brittany.

"Rehearsal has been cancelled this afternoon." Coach Sue turns on her heel and barks a loud "Schuester!", making Mr Schue jump to his feet and follow her out of the room. I wait until I can't hear their footsteps and turn back to my friends.

"Hospital?" I suggest. They nod and begin to shuffle awkwardly out the choir room door, neither of them ready to let go of the other. I try not to watch. I know that San hates it when people see her as gentle and loving and if she doesn't mind now she will later. She doesn't even like it when I see it: me, best friend of six years. Sure, at first it was a necessary friendship with our positions as the two most popular girls at school but it is real now.

In the car, Brittany starts to sniffle. I glance up into the rear view mirror at my friend. She has her legs tucked under her and is leaning heavily against Santana, hands wrapped around Santana's bicep. "Rachel will be fine, Britt, and Jo as well."

"And Puck?" She whispers, looking up at me with wide blue eyes so watery and sad that I have to look away. I can't cry. Not right now.

"Of course. Are you kidding me? Like he'd let anything get in the way of his badassness." She laughs a little through her tears and sniffles again, smiling at me. I smile back but look away again and focus on the road. I can feel my throat closing from the impeding tears and the overwhelming panic I've felt since I heard that Rachel could be badly hurt – and Jo and Puck, of course – starts to rise. I can hear Santana talking to me but I ignore her until she scream in my ear.

"Quinn!" I pull over to the side of the road and brake hard.

"What? What's wrong?" She scowls at me but I can tell that it is mostly from worry, not anger.

"Q, I get that your new found friend is in hospital, but that doesn't mean that you can put your old ones in there as well. Kay?" I blink. I know that she's saying something important but I can't quite get it to make sense. Her voice softens. "Drive more carefully, Q. Please." I nod. I can do that. She squeezes my shoulder with one hand and I reach up to lay my own on top of hers. It's times like these that I wonder how anyone could ever think that Santana is anything other than beautiful, amazing and kind.

"So drive then, shitface." And then she says something like that. I pull out onto the road again obediently and we arrive at the hospital, leaping out and marching into the hospital. Brittany squeals and tugs us to the gift store.

"Britt, no, come on let's just go see them." I glance over at the reception but Brittany stamps her foot – something she has learnt from Rachel since we joined Glee – and frowns.

"No! We are getting Rachie that pink bear," she points at it, "and Jo that heart," it's an admittedly adorable heart plushie, "and Puck that blue bear with the bandage." Santana pulls the toys down from the shelf.

"Anything else, Britt?" Britt peruses the store slowly. Nothing escapes her sight but finally she shakes her head and Santana trots off to buy the toys for our friends. "Be back in a sec!"

"Quinn?" Brittany attaches herself to my side and I wrap an arm around her shoulder. Like Santana, I'm not a huge fan of physical contact but again, like San, I make an exception for Brittany.

"Yeah, Britt?"

"Are they really going to be okay or were you just saying that because you're supposed to?" Her voice has fallen an octave with worry and I take a deep breath and press my forehead to hers, looking into her eyes.

"I said it because I'm supposed to." She blinks, tears welling immediately. "Hey, Britt. I haven't seen them so I don't know. But really, would Rach let a little bump keep her from performing?" Brittany shakes her head. "And would Jo let a little cut keep her from helping you or Rachel out?" She shakes her head again. "And we all know that Puck is too annoying to stay in bed for too long."

"He'd like to." I pull away and gape at Brittany.

"Britt!" She grins. "You made a dirty joke!" She shrugs and dances off to join Santana at the counter. She tugs us both over to the reception and stands there, bouncing nervously. (You can tell the difference between her happy bouncing and her nervous bouncing because the latter means she isn't smiling.)

"Can I help you?" The receptionist says. Brittany nods eagerly and Santana has to tug her back so that I can work my way in front to talk to the woman.

"We had some friends of ours come in? The ambulance brought them in." The woman heaves a sigh and blinks up at me.

"Names?"

"Of them? Rachel Berry, Jo Corcoran, and Noah Puckerman." The receptionist clicks away on her computer and heaves another sigh.

"We have no record of them at this hospital." I frown.

"What? Look lady, these are our friends and we want to see them. So find out where the fuck they went and _take us there_." Santana has never been the best at diplomacy. The lady barely even blinks at Santana's tone (vicious) or her words.

"If your friends only just arrived we won't have a record of them yet. Feel free to wait in the waiting room. I'll tell you if their names come up. Thank you." Her dismissal is abrupt and all-to-obvious. Santana and I glare at her. Fuck diplomacy. That lady doesn't understand sympathy. San and I take one of Brittany's arms each and tug her into the waiting room, where she is quickly distracted (or at least pretending to be distracted) by the cartoons on the television.

"Hey Q?" San sits as close to me as she can without touching me. She always does this. Funny movies when she wants to laugh but waits for me to laugh first, scary/terrifying movies where she refuses to scream first, when she's nervous before exams – basically, if I am seen doing it first, it's okay. I lean against her and drop my head on her shoulder. She leans her head against mine. (Note well: I was the one that wanted to touch her, to be reassured. Not her.)

"Mm?" We keep watching Britt. She doesn't speak and I feel the exact moment when she changes what she is going to say to me. She tenses a little and I swallow a sigh. I wish she could talk to me. She can't though. I know she feels like my Head Bitch persona isn't just a persona sometimes – and that's true. It isn't. But it is with her.

"Look after Britt? I have to go wash my hands." She holds them up and wiggles them in proof. "Blood and all that." I nod but refuse to look at her. She knows that I know that she feels she can't talk to me. And she knows that I'm offended.

She comes back after a few minutes and we half-sit, half-snuggle together. Minute after minute turns into the first half hour of our wait. Santana goes to yell at a few nurses and the receptionist again and comes back. Brittany joins us on the coach and falls asleep. I start to doze off when I hear more yells, but Santana is sitting next to me and stroking Brittany's hair. If it's not her then…?

"You will tell me right this minute where my daughter is! I demand to see her!" Santana smirks.

"Daddy Berry sure has some pipes on him." She shakes Brittany lightly and smiles when Britt yawns. "Come on Britt, Daddy Berry is yelling to see Baby Berry. We'll get in for sure now." Brittany leaps up, not even looking like she's been asleep: not rumpled or with pillow creases or anything. Jealous.

"Excuse me, Mr Berry?" I sidle up to Hiram and he turns, frowning.

"What do you-" he blinks. "Oh, Quinn." Then he beams. "Quinn! Leroy, it's Quinn!" Leroy appears suddenly beside him and beams at me as well. "How wonderful." They both try to hug me at the same time and almost hit each other with their hands. Hiram ends up hugging me as Leroy hugs Santana and then they swap. Brittany hugs them both at the same time. Santana subtly wipes her clothes and takes a step away. (Not that she has anything against them, of course, being super secretly gay but she doesn't like hugs.)

"Oh, you girls are gorgeous. Are you Rachel's friends?"

"Yep." Brittany smiles widely at Rachel's dads and Leroy tuts happily.

"You must be Brittany. Rachel has told us such wonderful things about you. She says that she is daily amazed at your talent." He leans in and stage whispers, "and she practices her dancing twice as much since she's met you but still isn't satisfied."

"Oh! And you're Santana." Leroy tugs on Hiram's arm. "Hiram, look, it's Santana." Hiram frowns thoughtfully at her – does he know that she bullied Rachel as well? Santana looks a little nervous but suddenly Hiram smiles.

"Of course – Santana! The beautiful girl with the cheekbones. You sang Valerie at Sectionals last year." Santana nods. "Rachel was so disappointed that she didn't get that solo." Before Santana can start to scowl, Hiram continues casually. "But she said you did such a wonderful job. We couldn't make it, unfortunately, but she told us all about it." Santana gapes at Leroy. Brittany bounces excitedly.

"Berry, I mean, Rachel said that?" Hiram nods to Santana. "Oh." There is a tiny flicker of something in Santana's eyes. I smirk at her. She may have pretended to be Rachel's friend/given her my number yesterday because I told her to and because she appreciates that Rachel is getting better at not being completely self-absorbed and complimented her, but Rachel's dads telling her that she compliments Brittany and her when there is no one around to hear but her family and even though she's been awful to her for years and even though she wanted that solo badly… _that_ convinces her. "So, have you been able to see Ber – Rachel?"

Hiram sighs. "No. The receptionist says that she has no records of anyone called Rachel Berry."

"Family of Rachel Berry?" The bored tone of the receptionist interrupts our conversation and I am tempted to go all Head Bitch on her when my brain registers what she said.

"Yes! That's us!" Leroy squeals and runs forward.

"She's in Room 203. Down that hall, to the left, take the elevator up to level four, follow the yellow arrows down the hall to the right until you see Ward C and then follow the numbers to Room 203. Got it?" She sighs when she takes in our identically baffled expressions. "I'll write it down."

"Thank you! Thank you so much." Leroy races off to the elevator and Hiram runs after him.

"I'll tell him to hold the elevator for you. He's a little worried." By the way Leroy is shrieking (quietly – it _is _a hospital after all), I would say that he is very worried. We – San, Britt and I – start to follow the Berry dads when Brittany stops abruptly and turns back to the receptionist.

"Excuse me? Miss?" She looks up, bored.

"What?"

"What about Jo Corcoran?" The receptionist clicks a few times and sighs again.

"Room 205. Down that hall, to the left, take the elevator up to level four, follow the yellow-"

"arrows down the hall and to the right until you see Ward C and then follow the numbers to room 205, yes thanks, but why aren't they in the same room?" Brittany frowns at the receptionist.

"Excuse me?"

"They are supposed to be in the same room. Jo will be scared if she wakes up in a different room to Rachie." Strangely enough, the receptionist softens a little. Well, not so strange. Britt has that effect on people. She either softens them or confuses them into giving her what she wants. The receptionist picks up the phone and clicks a number.

"Are they family?" She asks Brittany with the phone limply held to her ear. Brittany nods. The lady hums lightly and her eyes glaze over as she waits for the other person to pick up. "Hey Janet. Yes, it's Elizabeth from reception. The new arrivals in Rooms 203 and 205, how are they?" She pauses, nodding at slightly intervals interjected with 'mhmm' and 'okay'. "Okay, well, can you move the girl in 205 to 203 with the other girl? Mhm, that's right. Okay. Thank you." She puts down the phone with a thump and glances up at Britt. "Janet is moving her." Brittany leans over the desk to give the receptionist – Elizabeth – a big hug and then skips off down the corridor to the elevator. The lady stares after our friend before turning back to us.

Santana and I grin nervously and back away. "Thanks!" Then we run.

Leroy is standing impatiently in the elevator and glaring at the other people who are glaring at him. Hiram is smiling at Brittany who is talking animatedly and gesturing wildly with her hands around the three plushies. I'm not sure how she manages it but manage she does.

"Girls!" Hiram smiles. "Brittany was just telling us how she learnt to fish. Did you know she caught her first fish when she was three?" Brittany nods eagerly but then frowns.

"I let it go though. The poor fishy had a _hook_ in its mouth. How mean is that?" Hiram gives her a sideways look but nods. I think he understands that Brittany is a little different.

"Yeah, yeah. Come on girls!" Leroy pushes on the close-door button and bounces on the balls of his feet as we ride up to level four. "Now, where did she say we go?"

"We follow the yellow arrows down the hall to the right until we see Ward C and then follow the numbers to Room 203." Brittany recites calmly and then giggles, pointing at the first yellow arrow. "Look! There's one!" Hiram accompanies her as they find each and every one of the yellow arrows leading to Ward C. Then Brittany's head jerks up and she walks sideways, examining each of the room numbers. "196, 198, 200, 202, ooh!" She stops and turns the other way. "203!" She jumps forward and opens the door. "Hi Rachie!"

I should have been prepared for this. _We, _Santana and I, should have been prepared for this. One of us should have gone in first but we were calmed by the presence of adults and buoyed by Brittany's excitement and we didn't think that Rachel or Jo might still look injured or be unconscious, both of which were true. Jo's face was mostly cleaned but there were still little splotches of blood. The skin above her eyebrow had a large square plaster over it and her face was very pale. Both girls were very still.

Hiram and Leroy pause in the doorway with gasps and each of them races to a different girl, grabs their hands, and then switches. "Oh no, our girls." Leroy lifts a hand to his mouth and sinks shakily into one of the provided armchairs. Hiram stands beside him and rubs his shoulder gently.

"Don't worry Leroy, they'll be fine. Up and at it in no time." He presses a gentle kiss to Leroy's head and Santana and I avert our eyes. This is a private moment. Brittany 'aws' softly and claps her hands. "Girls, would you like to wait with us?" I am nodding my head before his question is fully out and Leroy pats the chair next to him. It's more of a couch than an armchair and we three girls pile onto it. Britt and I sit next to each other and San plops down on Britt's lap, her legs swung over mine. I rest my hands on her legs and we share a smile.

"And now we wait?" Britt asks.

"And now we wait." It's a poignant moment, all of us watching for the slightest hint of the girls waking, broken only by Brittany's next comment hardly a minute later.

"Waiting is really boring."

SAN POV

I stroke Britt's hair out off her face for her. She's been lightly snoozing for about an hour now and she hates it when her hair tickles her face. She always wakes up. I'm doing it for her so she won't wake up with a jerk and knock me in the chin again. (Yes, it's happened.) I'm really just holding her hair out of her eyes because I'm busy watching Quinn watch Rachel. It's creepy. She's just been sitting there with her eyes fixed on the Hobbit.

Ordinarily, I would think that Quinn was plotting but she took a vow of niceness in the summer and, though it's pretty much all gone to plot, she is still being nice to Berry. So, not plotting. She hasn't looked away though and she is barely blinking. Weird.

Britt snuggles into me and I flex my arm a little. I love Brittany – I can admit that in my head even if I can't do it out aloud – but she's a little heavy and my circulation is being cut off. I wiggle my fingers in the hope that the blood will make its way there. It doesn't. Britt crinkles her nose when a strand of hair tickles it and whines. I brush it away. She sighs. I smile at her; she is utterly adorable. Quinn is looking at us and, when I catch her, she blushes a light pink.

"What?" I snap.

"Nothing. Do you want something to eat?" I shake my head and, aware that I was a little bitchy then, I apologise.

"Sorry." She shrugs. I notice she never even made any appearance of moving and smile. The bitch, and I mean that in the most loving way possible, was just changing the subject. I know that she is aware of what is going on between Britt and me. She would have to be an absolute idiot (I would say Finn level idiocy but I don't want to even think about that disgusting brute right now) to not know there was something going on. She's never said anything about it though and that worries me.

I know that she takes her Christian stuff pretty seriously and I know that fuckhead Russel 'Dad' said some stupid phobic shit about homosexuality so I don't know what she thinks about it. She avoids the topic like it's contagious. Anytime I make a joke about it or something to break the ice so that we _can_ talk about it, she runs away. Figuratively. Changes the subject. I know she is my friend but I don't know what she thinks about that part of me that I try so hard to hide.

She returns to staring at Berry and I go back to making sure that Britt's sleep is undisturbed, interrupted with occasional glances at Jo to see if she's woken up. Hiram and Leroy return with coffee for us, along with consequent apologies that the coffee is so awful, a hot chocolate for Brittany, and sandwiches. They tell us that Puck (they went to visit him) is as well as can be expected. The doctors are sure that Jo and Puckerman have concussions – I could have told them that – but that Rachel will probably just have a little headache. They want to keep them all overnight.

Brittany looks like she's about to cry again so I take her back to the gift shop so we can buy some flowers for Jo and Berry. It makes her feel better and it gets my blood pumping again so I don't feel like my hand is missing. I hope Britt doesn't notice my subtle massaging of my left arm, or that I wince when the pins and needles start jabbing through my forearm.

When we come back, Quinn is in Leroy's old seat and is sitting closer to Rachel, still creepy staring. Brittany yanks me back out of the doorway and shushes me when I start to complain. Well, she puts her finger on my lips and I find it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

"What is it, Britt?"

"Shh! Quinn is sitting with Rachie. Let's go get some food." She takes me hand and drags me away but I dig my heels in – ineffective on the linoleum, but it makes me feel better that I tried. Plus, she's super strong.

"Britt! Britt, what are you doing? So what if Quinn is with Berry?" She sits me down in the cafeteria – I sat because I wanted to, not because I don't have a chance in hell against her – and gives me a scowl that I recognise as one of my own.

"Sanny! You need to pay attention to people."

"Why can't you just tell me?"

"I'm not supposed to." She pouts. "You have to figure it out." And then she crosses her arms and refuses to talk to me.

"Figure _what_ out?" No response. 'Fine. Quinn is sitting with Berry, right?" A nod. Okay. I'm getting somewhere. "And if I were Berry I would totally freak out because she is fully staring at her." No response, just a dirty look. "And Q was totally freaked out when Coach told her that Berry was going to hospital."

"Because?" Britt leans forward and takes my hand, eyes excited.

"Because they are fully in love with each other." I roll my eyes. (Note the absolute sarcasm.) Britt doesn't get my sarcasm though. Britt squeals and claps her hands. "Britt, I was joking. Britt!" She beams at me.

"No you weren't."

"Yes I was."

"Well, you shouldn't have been. They are in love with each other."

"Q isn't _gay_," I hiss, "and definitely not for Manhands Berry." Brittany glares at me.

"Santana Lopez." I wince. "Think about it." I do.

Quinn being nice to Berry. Quinn going to Berry's house for a movie night. Quinn giving Berry her phone number. Quinn defending Berry. Quinn freaking out when she heard that Berry was in hospital. Quinn creepy staring at Berry for an hour. Quinn dragging her into the bathroom to yell at her once a week for years. Quinn hating that she's dating Finn. Quinn hating Finn for dating her. The nicknames – _the drawing._ Quinn hating her guts to an unnatural degree…Oh. My. God. My best friend is a seriously repressed lesbian with sapphic desires for _Rachel Barbara Berry._

"Oh god." I slam my head down onto the table and Brittany giggles. "She's in love with the Hobbit."

"I know, right?" She claps her hands again.

"Oh god. I think I'm going to be sick." She frowns at me.

"Sanny, that's mean. They are so adorable together."

"And how long have you know about this? Oh wait, let me guess, since Quinn first told us that she wanted to be nice to people and figured out that she's been too mean to the Hobbit." Brittany shakes her head.

"Don't be silly, San. I've known since the first day of high school." I gape at her. Surely she has to be kidding. She _has_ to be kidding. She isn't. She really isn't kidding. My girl is a fucking genius with mad skills.

"And…you want to get them together don't you? So they can live happily ever after." She nods. "Alright then. What's the plan?"

**Chapter 25 – yay! Hope you enjoyed: please review. As always, happy reading, readers :)**


	26. Chapter 26

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Twenty-Six**

**Glee isn't mine.**

**Please enjoy. So: Rachel, Puck, and Jo are in hospital!**

JO POV

The first thing I recognise when I wake up is the smell. Antiseptic and starch. Then my fingers brush against the rough, crisp of linen and my eyes shoot open. I'm in hospital.

The bright light burns my retinas and I moan, lift my hand to my head and, overestimating my motor control after however long I have been unconscious, hit myself in the head. Cue the second groan. I can't be bothered to move my arm though so I just leave it there.

A cool hand takes my wrist and lifts my arm off my face. The owner of said hand then holds my hand gently and I feel the bed dip next to my face. I turn to the side and blink again, tentatively, but my eyes are less angry at me/the light and it doesn't hurt as much. I open my eyes and see the beaming face of Brittany resting her chin on my pillow.

"Hey," I croak. "How are you?" Brittany smiles and opens her mouth to answer me but before she can someone punches me in the shoulder and I groan again, pulling my hand out of Brittany's grip and rub my poor, abused shoulder gently.

"Santana!" Britt scolds. Santana ignores her. I peer over at the angry girl who is glowering down at me.

"Never _ever _do that again, you unimaginably idiotic _idiot_!" I gape at her.

"Jesus San, what the hell was that for?"

"What was that for?" She splutters. "What was that _for_? You took on a giant all by yourself and let it punch you in the face and then you fucking _faint_ on me while you are _bleeding_ from the fucking _face_ and let me think that you'd _died_! That's what that was for!" She scowls more heavily and crosses her arms. Brittany takes my hand back impatiently and strokes the back of it.

"Are you okay?" she asks sweetly. I just have to smile at her.

"Yeah, Britt. I'm fine." Santana leans forward – maybe she'll hug me! – and flicks me in the forehead. Pain lances into my skull and I groan, pulling my legs up and twist, writhe almost, clutching my forehead. "Holy fuck Santana. What the hell?"

"Oh yeah, you're just peachy." She glares right back at me when I glower at her.

"Why would you do that?"

"Why would you scare us like that? Britt_ cried_." I soften a little and reverse my hand so that I am the one holding Britt's hand and I squeeze it gently. I don't regret doing what I did though.

"She's my little sister, Santana. I had to."

"Sure. You just _had_ to get in the way of his massive fist. He _knocks Puck unconscious_ and you thought, what? I'm going to fight him instead of trying to placate him?"

"I wasn't really thinking Santana. I was-"

"Then maybe you should have been! Because so far I've punched you in the face, you've been slapped by Quinn, you've been beaten up by a bunch of idiots, and now Hudson has given you a concussion." (That would explain the nausea and the pain and the sensitivity to light.) "Maybe you _should_ think before you do anything," she snaps at me. I gape at her (again). I don't seem to be able to do much more. I hope that it's just a side effect of the concussion and not that he's knocked my witty cruelty right out of me. Brittany reaches over me and closes my mouth for me, and then winds her hand under and around mine, pats it gently.

"She's right, you know." Britt chides gently. "You really scared us. He's so big and you're really small and Sanny had your blood on her hands and then she cried." I turn sharply to Santana, ignoring the throbbing of my head.

"You cried?" I whisper. This from a girl who is just my frenemy? Sure, I'm her best friends/girlfriends tutor and friend but…ah who am I kidding? Santana is great. I just didn't know she thought anything of me.

"No!" Brittany frowns at Santana. "Fine, I might have. A little. What about it? You were bleeding all over me and it was fucking terrifying." I nod. I can't believe I missed her showing some kind of emotion other than anger or sarcastic superiority though (other than gentle and loving with Brittany).

"I'm sorry, San, Britt." She huffs and Britt pats my hand again. I hold out a hand to Santana. "Really, I'm sorry." She doesn't take my hand but she does, finally, take a seat next to me.

"Don't you ever think at all, you idiot?" she asks, still frowning.

"Honestly?" I think about shaking my head but I know that it will feel like my brain is slamming against the walls of my skull so I think better of it. "Not really. Not about people other than Rachel. She was in danger and I had to help her. That's just how it goes." Santana makes a rough noise, aggressive, of annoyance.

"You don't even think about the people who will be upset if you get hurt?" I fidget slightly and look away from my friend. (Strange. A friend.) Brittany pokes me in the shoulder and I look up at her. Her eyes are wide with curiosity and I sigh.

"I've never had anyone that_ would_ be upset before." I lower my eyes to where my hand is entwined with Brittany's. "You guys are the first." I try for nonchalance but it comes out whispered and hushed and altogether too awed for my liking. Santana doesn't move for a long, long moment and I refuse to meet her eyes. Brittany strokes my hand.

"Don't worry. We'll look after you from now on." She smiles so widely and beautifully that I can't do anything but smile back at her.

"Whatever." Santana mumbles. Brittany grins happily and leans in close to my ear.

"That means she likes you." The pounding in my head returns with a vengeance and I manage a 'that's nice' and a yawn before I sink back into my pillow.

_Finn is hurting Rach! Finn is hurting her! I've got to get up, I've got to get to her. _There are hands pushing on my shoulders and I lash out, sure that it's Finn returning to hit me again. I hear a muffled squeal and small hands wrap around my wrists. I struggle for a second but my 'attacker' smells sweet like caramel and I relax. It's just Brittany.

"Calm down Jo." Britt murmurs into my ear and I relax into the hard bed – and sit bolt upright. Alright, where the fuck am I?

"Miss Corcoran! Please do not do that!" The official sounding voice probably belongs to a doctor or nurse, I think when I recognise my surroundings as a hospital. I manage to stop from freaking out too much when I can feel that I am still in my own clothes rather than a hospital gown. Those things are far too revealing. I grab at Brittany's arm.

"Where's Rachel? Where _is she?_" Brittany strokes my hair gently and I bat her hand away, struggling with the bed sheets, which are restricting both my movement and my circulation.

"Rachie is okay, see? She's right over there." I follow Britt's arm to where it is pointing, and immediately force myself out my bed. Rachel is lying opposite me and looks small and pale and lifeless. I have to go to her. Britt grabs me and forces me back.

"No," she says, her tone final.

"No?"

"No."

"No…what?" I ask, exasperated.

"No, you can't go over to Rachie."

"Why not?"

"Because the doctor said so."

"Oh." I do hear her words and I do listen – but I think that's a stupid reason. Therefore, I try everything I can to get out of bed and get to Rachel, to my sister who is lying opposite me pale and still. I ask Brittany nicely. I turn the full power of my puppy dog eyes on her (it doesn't work). I throw a tantrum. I send her away to get me some water, pretending to be desperately thirsty – that works. While she's out of the room, I manage two steps towards Rachel before the blonde demon returns, scoops me up into her arms, and plops me back onto my bed.

"Brittany!"

"No, Jo!" She giggles, 'that rhymed!' before frowning. "The doctor said you aren't supposed to even be awake yet and _no walking_. So go to sleep." I look pleadingly at her, my eyes cutting over to my sister.

"_Please_ Brittany. I need to know that she's okay."

"She'll be right as rain after her sleep, Miss Corcoran." A grizzled old doctor pauses in the doorway. "Dr Panach." I nod to him, regretting it when my brain feels like it belly flopped onto a knife but I don't let him see that. "Mind telling me what all this ruckus is about?"

"Oh, it's nothing sir." I plaster on my best disarming smile but Brittany ruins it.

"Jo wants to see Rachie but she's not allowed out of her bed and she keeps trying to get out of bed so I keep putting her back in." Dr Panach nods.

"Well, good job. Miss Corcoran should definitely not be out of bed yet." He comes over so he can prod at my head. I yelp and snarl, fixing him with my super ultimate death glare. Forget disarming smiles and sucking up to him so I can get to Rachel – that fuckhead poked me in the face. And it _hurt_.

"You hit your head quite badly, Miss Corcoran." No shit Sherlock. "I expected that you would sleep through the night – it's quite common for patients with head injuries to sleep, Miss Pierce," (Brittany had whimpered worriedly) "and, since you are awake, I must insist that you don't move around. You have plenty of friends here that are willing to help you. You don't want to hurt yourself do you?" I scowl but mutter a 'no'.

"Can we at least move my bed next to Rachel's?" He shakes his head.

"No. There needs to be space around the beds so that the doctors can work if there is a problem – hospital procedure, Miss Corcoran." I hum discontentedly but don't argue. That makes sense. "I can, if you like, have the nurse help you with your bed so you are sitting upright. That way you can keep an eye on your," he pauses, "sister?"

"Yeah! They're sisters. They have different names but they're sisters. How cool is that?" Dr Panach nods and smiles.

"Will that be alright, Miss Corcoran?"

"I'd really appreciate that, sir. Thank you." He nods and plays on his pager for a few seconds.

"I must leave now but it's good to see that you're alright. We are keeping you overnight but you should be fine to leave in the morning. Alright?" I smile my thanks.

"Oh! Dr Panach?" He raises his brows in question. "Why is Rachel in a hospital gown and I'm not? Is she alright?"

"Oh yes, she's fine. You, on the other hand," he chuckles. "You fought the nurses when they tried to put you in a gown and we didn't have anyone strong enough to force you into one." I smile. Way to go subconscious, good job! (No sarcasm. Seriously, no sarcasm. I am seriously impressed with my subconscious.)

A nurse comes in and presses a button, scowling the whole time. I get that it's not exactly life threatening and she doesn't have to do this but, I don't know, I thought that nurses were supposed to be nice and want to help people? Eh, she probably had a bad day. Whoa…what am I doing? Forgiving someone? Crap, my brain really is messed up. Crap crappity crap muffins.

"You okay, Jo?" Britt flops onto the bed next to me and I muffle a groan. No biggie, just my head screaming at me and throbbing in time to my heart beat. I smile.

"Just fine Britt." I yawn. "I'm going to sleep, okay?" She strokes my hand. Ordinarily I would take it away but my bones feel heavy and I sigh and find myself snuggling slightly into her. "Watch over Rach, kay?" I say. At least, I hope I say it. I have the feeling that my words are slurred. She must understand, though, because she murmurs an okay and, when I glance over at her before I fade away again, she is watching Rachel intently.

The third time I wake up, that I can remember, Brittany is gone and Quinn is watching over us. Well, Rachel. I'm sitting all on my lonesome (_all by myseeelf, don't wanna beeeee_ – Oh. My. God. _Brain_, stop being stupid!) while she's staring at my sister. I clear my throat loudly and she jerks around, standing abruptly and whacking her shin against her chair.

"Oh. Hey." I try not to move my face in my favourite move (raising my eyebrows) when confronted by Quinn because my face is kind of a little busted and it will hurt. Big time. I guess words will have to do.

"Hello. What are you doing here?"

"I'm, uh, I'm watching over you guys. Santana took Brittany home," whose home, I wonder? "and Mr and Mr Berry just left to check on Puck." I hum a little and mutter an okay.

"Has Rachel woken up yet?" Quinn nods.

"About an hour ago. She's fine, just a little tired. She's worried about you." I smile. Good, she's fine.

"Cool. What are you doing here?" Quinn frowns.

"I just told you…I'm watching over you guys." She takes a step closer to me and reaches for the nurse button. I slap her hand away.

"I know what you told me. The concussion isn't _that_ bad. I want to know why _you_ are looking after us." She relaxes.

"Oh good. I thought you were dying." She settles back on her chair, giving Rachel one last look, and turns to face me. "Rachel's my friend now."

"You know, I really didn't gather that from the baking and the movie nights." My voice is flat and emotionless and she smirks.

"You shouldn't use sarcasm so much."

"Can't help it. It's my mother tongue." She shakes her head.

"I guess I can see why you and Santana get along so well."

"And I can't see why you get along so well with Rachel because she's Rachel and you're a bitch." She sucks in a breath and I know that she's fighting the urge to verbally bitch slap me. I smirk. Point one to me; zero points for Fabray.

"I've apologised to her."

"I'm aware." I am. Rachel was bouncing all over the walls for days after she apologised – forget the fact that I'm injured, that's fine, just be happy that you have Quinn Fabray for a friend – and the same again after the movie night.

"I…had to tell her stuff that I never told anyone else because I knew that I would have to convince her that I really did want to be her friend. She's not like San or Britt. She didn't already like me."

"Mhm." The noise is uncommitted enough that it doesn't sound like I'm laughing at her. I'm fairly sure that Rachel has loved Quinn for years….

"I think, look, Jo." She sighs and scoots closer. Oh great, a bonding session. "I like Rachel. I want to be her friend." I shrug. That's nice. "But I really don't want to have to be watching over my shoulder just in case you're standing there with a chainsaw or some knives or something." She is bordering on slightly hysterical – she's totally been thinking about me killing her. How fun! "So…I think I owe you an explanation."

"That would be nice. Do you have one?"

"Not really." I sigh.

"Then what were you going to say?"

"I sort of thought I would muddle through some excuses and possible reasons for my actions until we settled on one that we could both deal with."

"Hm." I grunt. "You're a bitch?" She sighs. "Fine! Get on with it then, Fabray. Besides," I gesture around the hospital room. "I'm kind of stuck here. I can't leave so get on with your story."

"Okay." She frowns at the floor for a little while before her face relaxes and she sinks into the chair, a confident half-smile on her face. Uh oh. A confident Fabray. I don't like this.

"What do you know about me, Jo?"

"Oh, I have to answer questions now, do I? Okay, that's fine." I sigh and rub the bridge of my nose slowly, trying not to tear the recently fixed skin or aggravate my headache. "You're seventeen, Christian, Head Cheerio, straight A student, you had a baby with Noah Puckerman," she flinches minutely but I press on. "You're a bit of a control freak and I know you have a room at Santana's. You're very popular but your only real friends are the Gleeks." Quinn is silent for a while as she fiddles with her fingers in her lap.

"You're quite good at dissecting people." I shrug. It's a talent. "Do you want to know what I think about you?"

"Not really, no."

"Oh." She stares at me until I give in under the pressure.

"_Fine!_ Go ahead."

"You're lonely. You're, what? Twenty?" Twenty-one. But close enough. "You have the makings of a control freak but due to some trauma or another, you aren't because you're afraid and you don't care enough to care about anything enough to control it. You have no friends. You are more afraid of Rachel than you would like to admit and I guess that is because you don't want her to leave you. You think nothing of yourself and it isn't in the selfless, good kind of way, but because you honestly believe that you are worthless."

I whistle soundlessly. She's good. Damn these writer wannabees – they all seem to be very in tune with psychology these days. Still, just because she's right doesn't mean that she should _know _that she's right.

"Completely off." She frowns at me.

"You shouldn't be like that." She suddenly looks like she's swallowed a lemon and forces words out of her mouth. "You are an amazing person." She stops to recuperate, continues – still slightly bitterly. "I was wrong to hurt you. I was just scared. You said it yourself – I'm a control freak. You made me nervous because I couldn't account for you so I wanted to get rid of you. I'm sorry." I nod. "And I just want to say that you shouldn't be worried about Rachel. She adores you."

"And you shouldn't have been worried because I love Rachel." She smiles weakly. "You thought I was going to hurt her or Glee and so you lashed out." She nods vigorously. "I can understand that, Fabray, but it doesn't mean that I like it."

"No, of course not. You're absolutely right. And I know I shouldn't have been worried. You could never hurt Rachel or Glee, even if you wanted to." Her slightly awed tone is making me hugely uncomfortable. This girl is supposed to hate me – I am _accustomed_ to that – and here she is, gushing about how great (supposedly) I am.

"Yeah, yeah. Okay Fabray, back up a little or I'll start to think that you're in love with me." She does lean away abruptly at that, skids her chair back a few inches, and pales. "Look, what do you want Fabray?" Personally, I want this over and done with. Everything I kind of weird. My head hurts and I don't understand why I'm acting the way I'm acting. I should have just yelled her out of the room when I first saw her in here but for some reason I've played along with her and we've had a deep and meaningful and _I don't like it_. I want to be normal again.

"I want to apologise for what I did."

I wave a hand. "Done. Forgiven. But _not," _I eye her meaningfully and she gulps, "_not_ forgotten. Got that, Fabray?" She nods slowly.

"That's it? I'm forgiven? But you were so adamant that you wouldn't forgive me and you _just_ said that you didn't like what I did and-"

"Look, Fabray." I glance over at my sister's sleeping form. "You made Rach happy when you befriended her. Who am I to stand in the way of that? Also, I distinctly remember telling you that I wouldn't forgive you if you were apologising just because you thought you should. You actually mean it so we're cool now." I shrug. "Or, I'm sorry, did you _want_ me to hate you?"

"No! I'd just like some sign that tells me that you aren't just forgiving me for Rachel's sake."

"Forgiveness is forgiveness, Fabray. Just take it."

"That's messed up, Corcoran."

"Look, I'm not forgiving you for Rachel's sake. I'm just forgiving you, okay?"

"You just said that you were forgiving me because Rachel is happy that we're friends."

"_And_ because you finally mean it when you say sorry. God, don't you kids ever listen?" I grumble. She smiles a little but her eyebrows are still tight with worry. "Look, Fabray. I knew that you never meant to hurt me. I knew that when you apologised the first time but I was furious and-"

"No you weren't," she interrupts, shaking her head. "You were scared." My blood freezes at her words.

"What?"

"You weren't angry. You were terrified. I saw it. You were acting angry and you probably were a little but you were scared too." She clicks her tongue thoughtfully; from the look of her she was wondering whether she should keep talking. "I'm sorry about what happened to you. You know, on your back. I know, I mean, I can't imagine what it was like but it must have been terrifying. I'm sorry that I scared you that day." I manage a stiff nod. That's it. This conversation is over.

"And _I_ said that I forgive you. It was a stupid thing to do and it hurt like a bitch but I know that you didn't mean for them to hurt me. As for being scared…" Her face lights up with some kind of hope. She wants to know if I was scared. What a twisted bitch! "That's none of your business and I believe that I told you to forget that you'd ever seen it." There is a tense silence, still, and I sigh after a short moment. "I'm sorry. It's a bit of a touchy subject. That you for your concern but that was a while ago now and I'm fine. Just," I look down at my fingers, twiddle my thumbs thoughtfully. "Just don't hurt Rachel or I swear, however scared you thought I was that day, you will be ten times more terrified than that." I look up to see if my threat hit home. When she gulps, I smile. It's not a nice smile – it's my smile no# 14: evil, double evil, scary smile with a hint of satanic glee. It means that I seriously intend evil business. She nods.

"I won't hurt her. I intend to make up for being a bitch. And, if you want, I'd like to spend some time with you as well. You're close with Rachel and I think it would be good." I grunt.

"We'll see." My headache has long since returned with a vengeance but I had ignored it in favour of talking to Quinn. "Now piss off. My head is killing me."

She smirks. "Can't, sorry. Mr and Mr Berry want me to stay and watch over you two." I glare at her but my heartbeat throbs behind my eyes and it becomes too painful to care.

"Oh whatever." I close my eyes and slowly lower my head to my pillow. "Just don't disturb me again, okay?"

"I didn't wake you up!" She argues and I shrug.

"You woke my with your level of annoyingness." I hear her tut and smile. "See you tomorrow, Fabray," I say and flip her the bird. It's fun to be mean to people sometimes.

QUINN POV

I yawn and shift in my chair. So far, the Berry dads, Santana, Brittany, and I have all been here, well, for a long time. All night. At first the hospital personnel didn't want to let us stay overnight but we won that fight. I don't even remember how. Some combination of puppy dog eyes from Brittany, scariness from Santana, bitchiness from me, and parental fear from the dads, and we were allowed to stay. We make a good team.

I shift in my chair again. God but I ache. I sip the coffee that Leroy brought me and sigh. It's lukewarm and disgusting but it's better than nothing at all. Speaking of the Berry dads, I glance over to see them talking animatedly to Rachel. She woke up about twenty minutes ago and I have the feeling that she is listing items that she wants from home. Sure enough, they both kiss her on the forehead and touch their hands to Jo's shoulder (who is still asleep following out discussion late last night) and race out. Then Rachel's eyes find mine and I can't think. So I say what any normal teenager would.

"Hi." She smiles.

"Hey." Her voice is soft and a little scratchy. "Were you here all night?" I nod. "You didn't have to do that."

"No shit, Berry, but here we are." Santana walks in with bags under her eyes and clutching Brittany's hand. Brittany, who looks more than half asleep. Brittany, who immediately drops Santana's hand and crawls into bed with Jo (who shifts to the side sleepily to let her in).

"Hello Santana. It's a pleasure to see you." Santana slurps her coffee.

"Don't talk to me." She takes a seat next to Jo and peers at her nails. Rachel's face falls and Santana smirks slightly.

"How was your night, Santana?" My friend raises her eyes and glares at Rachel.

"Oh, just great, thanks. Brittany was freaking out because three of her friends were in hospital, then I spent like four hundred bucks in the gift shop, and now I have to listen to you talking to me. Everything is great." Rachel blushes and mumbles a sorry. Santana sneers and props her feet up on Jo's bed. "Whatever, Hobbit."

"San, leave Rachel alone." I glare at my friend who sighs and repeats her 'whatever'.

"Brittany? How was your night?" Brittany giggles into Jo's shoulder and answers Rachel in a somewhat ditzy fashion.

"Jo-Jo kept climbing out of the bed to see you Rachie but she wasn't allowed to move so I picked her up." Rachel nods. "It was funny," she sighs.

"Quinn?" I blink over at Rachel. "How was your night?"

"Fine. Great. Oh, Jo and I had a…discussion last night." Rachel smiles. "We're…friends?"

"We are _not_ friends, Fabray." Jo groans from her bed. She keeps her eyes tightly closed. "I just said that you're forgiven and if you hurt Rachel I'll hurt you but not until then. We are _not_ friends."

"I'm not going to hurt Rachel!" I snap at her. So what if she's in hospital? I have the right to defend myself.

"Oh, sorry for thinking that you might go back to being a mega bitch, Fabray. It's not like you weren't for four years."

"I only did that because…" I stop. No excuse. I don't know why I did it.

"Yes Quinn?" Is it just me or does Jo sound delighted? "Please, tell me why you bullied my sister for years?"

"I don't know, okay?" From the corner of my eyes, I see Santana smirking down at her phone and I want to break it. For once, I just wish that she would help me out. This had been such a good morning – everyone is fine and happy – and it's turned out to be such a not-so-good morning. I hate my life.

"Oh, I do." I sigh with relief. Finally, someone backing me up. "You totally said there was something different with Rachie and you hated it." Brittany beams at me. I resist the temptation to facepalm.

"So, there's something wrong with me?" Rachel whispers. I gape at her.

"No!" Rachel frowns.

"It kind of seems that way. I mean, you've spent years telling everyone that I am less of a human because I have two gay fathers and I am an abomination," her voice cracks but she presses resolutely on, "spending every moment putting me down so why don't you tell me what is wrong with me?"

"Nothing!" I move to touch her hand but she moves away. "Rachel, I'm sorry. I told you that. I was sorry and I _am_ sorry. So, so sorry for saying all of that stuff." Rachel doesn't say anything, just looks up at me with wet, brown eyes and tries to pull my soul out of my mouth – _speak to me, Quinn,_ she is saying, _tell me why you hurt me over and over and over again._

"You wanna know what I think, Berry?" Rachel drags her eyes away from me and peers suspiciously at Santana. I gasp quietly for a breath – the first one in what seems like forever now that Rachel isn't looking at me.

"Very well, I will hear what you have to say Santana." Santana purses her lips, examines her nails closely and, finally, speaks very quickly, very quietly.

"You're better than us." Rachel's mouth falls open and I shrug. That's true. "Maybe not in adorableness," she points to Brittany (who, to make Santana's point, smiles cutely over at us), "or at badassness," she points to herself, "or in bitchiness," _now_ she points at me (thanks a bunch Santana – that's my identifier is it? Bitch.) "or in general hotness," she points at all of us, all members of the Unholy Trinity as we have been dubbed, "but you are a better person than I'll ever be. Or Quinn. Quinn is fucked up." I start to disagree, offended, but stop and shrug. That is sort of true.

"You've been insufferably nice to us," she continues, "and I _mean_ insufferable. I mean, sometimes I just want to strangle you or stuff your non-vegan cookies down your throat." Rachel doesn't look very happy at the day-dreaming face that Santana is sporting so I clear my throat. Santana grins at us, unrepentant. "Anyways, despite _all_ of that and the slushies and the names and the insults and all of that, you are still nice and you still see good in everyone even when it seriously isn't there." Brittany coughs a very obvious _Finn_ into her hand and smiles at Santana. "Plus, you work super hard at everything, which we totally don't notice because you are so fucking annoying about it. But," she acknowledges, "since Jo arrived you've calmed right the fuck down and stopped being such an uptight loser and looking at you doesn't make my eyes bleed." She shrugs. "You're alright, Berry."

There is a muffled squeal and, despite my shock at the long speech – Santana usually just says witty one-liners that I wish I had the wit to think of – I tear my eyes away from my friend and look at Brittany. Her eyes are overflowing with tears and she is smiling like I've never seen someone smile before. It's like her face alone can't show how happy she is and she is bouncing a little. Jo is sitting up in her bed behind Britt, and smirking. She does that a lot. Watches Britt, I mean. Not the smirking. Though she _does_ smirk a lot.

"Thank you Santana." Rachel's voice is hesitant. "I think. I mean, I got a little lost in the middle with the insults and the cussing but…you think I'm a good person?"

"Yeah basically. Also, you're totally hot. Why don't you wear jeans more often?"

"Well, I didn't exactly have a mother to show me what to wear." Rachel says snippily.

"See! I told you Sanny!" Brittany crosses her arms victoriously. "Sanny said it was because your daddies had a funny sense of fusion but I don't see why their joining anything would mean that you sucked at dressing." Rachel gapes at Brittany. So do I.

"Fashion, Britt. I said her dads had a funny sense of _fashion_."

"Oh!" Britt's eyes brighten. "Well that makes way more sense. You really shouldn't mumble, Sanny."

"Please don't insult my fathers."

"We weren't Rachie. I bet you totally looked cute like a baby duckie in the cardigan and knee socks and argyle when you were, like, six."

Rachel nods. So does Jo.

"I did."

"She totally did." Rachel frowns over at Jo.

"How did you know that?"

Jo uncrosses and recrosses her arms. "I'm a creepy stalker and I've actually lived next door for the last twenty years." She rolls her eyes. "Your dads sent pictures, Rach." Rachel looks to the starched bed sheets, and sits up taller in her bed so that she can look more easily over at her sister.

"Did, I mean, did my mother look at them?"

If I hadn't been watching Jo I wouldn't have seen it. I'm not even sure if I did – it might have been my imagination. What I _thought_ I saw was…anger. No. Murderous intent. Fury. A swirl of hate and depression and anger. All of this for the tiniest, briefest moment. Her face, however, was an impassive mask that I haven't seen since her first few weeks at McKinley. Closed off. A hint of a smile that means Rachel isn't worried but _I'm_ worried. When I look to my right, I see Santana is just as worried. And Brittany? Well, she's staring at Jo with a little curious smile rather than a big one – basically, she's worried too.

"Are you kidding? I know we aren't really supposed to talk about my – _our_ – mother but she loved getting the pictures. Really, she did." Her tone is…cheerful. Unusually so. Jolly. More worry. Jo is never jolly. She is: sarcastic, mean, neutral, sometimes kind, affectionate, or loving, but she is _never_ jolly. It doesn't fit her face. It is upbeat and fakey. Again, Rachel doesn't notice but she turns back to me, to us I mean, and smiles.

"Well, thank you Santana for your kind words. I am feeling much better." She pauses, look down at the sheets again. Or, more accurately, at her hands where she has pressed them together over the sheets. "I would like to extend to you an invitation to-"

"Berry!" Santana barks. "What did I tell you about talking like a fucking teenager?" Rachel frowns heavily at Santana. So do I. She was trying to say something, for Christ's sake.

"Nothing. You haven't told me anything about talking like a teen. Also, may I add that I find expletives crass and a sign of laziness. There are better – and by better I mean more effective – ways of insulting someone or of getting your point across. As such, I refuse to use them." Santana rolls her eyes. "And, although you haven't told me anything about talking like a normal teenager, I understood the point you were trying to make. So," now that she's finished her rant she looks unsure again. "Would you like to come over for a movie night?"

I turn sharply to look at her. "Our movie night?" Rachel gives an odd shrug nod combination.

"If you want. Or maybe another night. It doesn't bother me."

Santana shrugs. "What's your movie night?"

"Tuesdays," Rachel and I say together. Santana shakes her head.

"No can do. Sorry Berry," Santana says with a little twist of her lips. She isn't used to apologising to Rachel yet. It gets easier, I've found, being around Rachel. She says it so often – it means so little and yet it is still sincere. She so easily offers her apologies when she needs to. "Tuesdays are no good."

"Oh. May I enquire as to the reason for, um," she falters under Santana's harsh glare, swallows her statement, and starts again. "Oh. Why's that?" Santana opens her mouth to speak but Brittany beats her.

"I have tutoring with Jo," she nudges Jo, who nudges back. "And then Sanny drives me to the duck pond and we feed the duckies and then we get ice-cream and then we go back to Sanny's house and watch TV and then-"

Santana kicks Brittany in the shin, blushing furiously. Not that you can really tell, what with San's skin tone. I can only tell because she always quirks her lips a little when she's embarrassed and glances quickly down and to the left and up again. Brittany is smiling.

"We aren't free, Hobbit, kay?" San shrugs. "What about Saturday?" Rachel nods slowly.

"Saturday is fine. What would you like to watch?"

"Jesus, Berry. Do we have gotta do everything for you?" Santana flips her ponytail and drags Brittany down the corridor. "Figure it out! We're off to see Puckerman."

"Can we see Aladdin?" Brittany calls back. "And the Little Mermaid?" Rachel nods and waves to my ditzy friend. So does Jo. And I am left in the semi-awkward position of sitting between the two sisters.

"And I'm going to go." I stand quietly and give Rachel a little smile. "I'll see you Tuesday for our movie night, right?" She nods, hesitantly and then she blinks and nods more decisively. I smile bemusedly at her. She really is weird.

"Okay then. Bye Rachel. Jo." I nod to her, not expecting any answer at all. To my surprise, she nods back and waves a two-fingered salute.

"See you, Fabray." It's even free of any possibly construed animosity. She's probably suffering from her concussion…

I pass Leroy and Hiram on the way out and they hug me tightly, awkwardly thanks to the overnight bags, and thank us for staying. They'd already hugged Britt and San, apparently, and they wave me goodbye as I run to catch up to my friends in Puckerman's room. We end up leaving after only five minutes because Puck wakes up and starts making sleazy comments about three girls in his room and activities that involve less clothing.

"So, a movie night, Fabray?" I glance at Santana when she mentions it in the car ride back to her place.

"Yes? It's actually pretty fun. We have food and watch movies. Jo joined us last time as well." Santana nods. "You don't have to come if you don't want to." She grins widely and I'm feeling suddenly very uncomfortable. Santana takes Brittany's hand (who is now asleep, poor thing) and smiles at me.

"Oh, we'll be coming to the movie night. No worries." She hops out and carries Brittany out of the car when we get to her house. I open and close the front door for her so she doesn't have to wake up Britt. We tuck our friend into bed and Santana leans against the doorway. "Can I bring one of my movies?" She asks with a grin and I feel my face blush heavily.

"No!" She cackles behind me as I stalk into my bedroom. (Her movies are porn, just in case you didn't know that.)

**Alright all, what did you think? Please review and tell me. Hope that you are enjoying it. Next chapter I'm hoping to get Finn's ass in jail – or at least some serious punishment – because the majority of you were all 'RAGEFACE FINN GO TO JAIL' and I loved it. Also, because it is the legally responsible thing to do. Anyway, I'll try and write ultra fast. Reviews! Happy reading, readers!**


	27. Chapter 27

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Twenty-Seven**

**Glee isn't mine.**

**(I began to answer some of your reviews. I love getting them and I thought you should know that. Thank you all!) This chapter is a little confusing, maybe, as it flicks between THIRD PERSON POV and Jo's POV a lot but I hope that you'll get why I had to do it like that. As it is, please enjoy. **

THIRD PERSON POV

The morning of their escape from hospital – discharged really: there wasn't much escaping involved – was interesting. Rachel was as vibrant as usual and fully recovered from her self-inflicted injury (she'd actually fainted when she saw the blood gushing from Jo's forehead), whereas Jo and Puck were wheeled out of their rooms both arguing about the indignity of being said wheeling to greater and lesser degrees respectively. Jo more so because she hates wheelchairs and Puck less so once he realised that he could wheel himself and started racing down the hallway.

Leroy and Hiram were taken aside by Dr Panach as they watched their odd collection of children disappear. He was a kind man, they knew, but looked worried.

"Mr Berry, Mr Berry," he looked down at his pager. Fiddled with it, really. "I understand that you are the guardians of Miss Corcoran?" Leroy and Hiram exchanged looks.

"Well, yes. She is living with us so I, yes, I suppose so." Dr Panach nods and delves in his coat pocket. He pulls out a slip of paper and hands it to Leroy.

"That is a prescription for the cream for scarring. I would suggest that Miss Corcoran use it." Hiram smiles.

"Thank you for your help, Dr Panach, but we've already been given a little tube. It should be more than enough for Jo's forehead." Dr Panache nods impatiently, fiddling with his pager.

"Yes, yes Mr Berry. _That_,_"_ he nods to the prescription, "is for Miss Corcoran's back." He gives the Berry fathers a look of genuine, albeit slightly impatient, good humoured concern and shakes their hands. "Take care, Mr Berry, Mr Berry, but I really must go." He turns and hurries down the corridor, leaving our two favourite men gaping after him. They turn to each other with equally bemused looks and mouth 'her back?'

Curious and ignorant, they trot off to the nurses station. "Excuse us?" A nurse, Janet on her nametag, turns with a smile.

"Hi there. Can I help you lovelies?" Leroy beams at her as Hiram hands the prescription over. "Oh, honey, I can't dole out medication. You have to take that to the pharmacist. It's just down the elevator to the lobby and around the corner." She smiles but Hiram shakes his head.

"No, no, thank you. We were just wondering why Dr Panach would have given us this script. It's for Jo Corcoran?" Janet takes it from his hands with a 'do you mind?' and glances over it.

"Well, says it's for scarring." Hiram nods.

"Yes but the adorable young nurse this morning," Janet nods, smiling, 'Ellie', "already gave a little tube for her forehead."

Janet hands the prescription back to Hiram. "Oh, it's not for her forehead. You're her guardians, right?" They nod impatiently. "Well, Dr Panach was being nice. It's for her back. All the scars there – she'd like to get rid of a few of them, I would think." A sharp ringing interrupts her and she smiles apologetically at them. "Look, sorry boys but I really have to go. Have a good one!"

Leroy and Hiram are left staring at the prescription. Her scars? On her back? In the way that some couples can, the two men share their thoughts telepathically, or so it seems, and come to the same conclusion. They would have to talk to their pseudo-daughter about this new development. But not yet. It could wait. For now, they would celebrate the fact that everyone was fine, healthy, and happy.

Once out of the hospital, things progressed quite quickly. Jo, Rachel, and Puck aren't allowed to go back to school for a full week in case their concussions had some vile side effects, which they did. Noah throws up in the bathroom that afternoon and the Berry fathers send him home so his mother can cluck over him. Jo, though she tells no one, throws up twice that night. Rachel is fine, of course.

Quinn, Santana, and Brittany are over the next day. Santana and Brittany came for Jo, who helps with homework, and stay for movies with Rachel. Jo watches as Santana and Brittany try to force Quinn and Rachel together in all kinds of ways – baking together, sharing a popcorn bowl, sitting on the same small couch because Britt 'spontaneously' decides to lie down and put her head in Santana's lap and finally, exasperated, she yanks them out of the room and sits them down in her bedroom.

JO POV

"What are you doing?" I growl at the pair. They frown up at me, confused. "With Rachel and Fabray?" Santana's frown transforms slowly into a wide smirk and she lounges back on my bed. Mind blank. Legs, chest, boobs, legs, oh my_ god_ look at that body. What was I saying? I shake my head firmly and drag my eyes away from her. God, I hope she didn't notice me ogling her… (I can vaguely recall saying something about her before I fainted but I hope to God and all deities that it is just a nightmare and didn't actually happen.)

"We aren't doing anything." I roll my eyes at Santana's comment (while avoiding looking directly at her).

"Yes you are and you _aren't_ subtle. You are going to ruin everything!" Brittany pouts. "Oh, no, Jesus Christ. What's wrong, Britt?"

"We just want them to be _happy_," she says. I sigh and move forward a step so I can crouch in front of her and pat her on the shoulder. "They are so perfect for each other," she continues despite Santana hissing something that sounds like 'Brittany, she'll ruin it!' I glare at her before turning back to Brittany and nodding.

"I know you want them to be happy together but we need to do this carefully. Rachel doesn't even know that girls are a romantic option at the moment, Britt. If we just throw her in the deep end she'll drown!"

"I don't want her to drown!" she wails and I clap my hand over her mouth, hushing her. The last thing we need is for Fabray or Rachel to come up here after us, curious.

"It's just a saying, Britt! We aren't throwing her in the deep end of a pool, okay?" She nods and peels my hand away. "I just mean that we have to introduce her to the idea of maybe that she likes girls – now that she is no longer with Finn – and then make her see that Fabray is the perfect girl for her." Santana frowns.

"And we have to convince Q that Berry is right for her." She glowers at a spot on my roof. "And that being gay isn't a sin."

"Well, maybe you can help her with that." Santana's glare turns on me. She pulls herself upright and flings herself off my bed.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Brittany suddenly won't move and is staring at my shoulder. Her hand is digging into mine. Santana stalks towards me slowly, dangerously, and I stand from my crouch. She moves until she is face to face with me. I try not to breathe. She tilts her head slightly to the side and I make sure that my eyes are meeting hers calmly, hiding both the urge to ogle her and the slight nerves I'm feeling. "_What is that supposed to mean, Corcoran_?" she hisses.

"Nothing," I mutter. "Nothing at all." She doesn't speak for a long moment, glaring at me. I try not to glare right back but, well, I do. Sorry. I know that she's fighting herself right now and all that jazz but that doesn't mean that I'll let her get away with bitching at me.

Abruptly, Santana rips away from me and shoves me to the side, Santana grabbing her jacket from where she'd flung it. "Whatever. I'm going to Puckerman's house. Drop Brittany at her house." And then she strides out of my room. Brittany starts to cry. Well _that_ escalated quickly.

I am tempted to run after Santana and calm her down so she doesn't do something stupid but Brittany is _on my bed_ and _crying_. I have to help her. I perch on the bed next to her and, Christ, what do I do? I hope that she knows how to calm herself down because I don't really know where to start. I touch her shoulder gently and she tackles me onto the bed, her arms wrap tightly around my chest, and she starts sobbing into my neck.

We lay there for some time and I pat her head and rub her back until she is all out of tears. When 'some time' turns into an hour, I pull back to see how she's going and realise that she has fallen asleep, so I gently extract myself from her grip and, draping my blanket over her, tip-toe out of the room.

"Hey." Quinn is standing outside my room, looking at her watch. I jerk in surprise and slam my shoulder into the doorframe.

"Fuck," I hiss quietly, and glance back to make sure that Brittany is still asleep.

"Sorry." I shrug and, after very slowly and gently clicking my bedroom door shut, start off down the hallway. I grab my car keys off the buffet table and turn. Quinn is standing _right there_ behind me and I close my eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"For fuck's sake, Fabray. Make some noise, would you?" She doesn't react, just looks at me and then down at my car keys. "What?" I snap.

"Are you going after Santana?"

"Yes, Fabray, I am. Something that you, _as her best friend,_ should be doing." She looks away and I sigh. "Whatever. Where is she going to be?"

"Puck's house, most likely." Fabray sighs. "She looked upset."

"Yeah she…" I pause before I can say 'had a massive gay panic because I said that she could help you understand that being gay isn't a sin because she's fully lesbian for her best friend Brittany' but it doesn't matter.

"Had a gay panic. I know." I frown at her. She…knows? "Of course I know." Whoops, said that out aloud. "They aren't exactly subtle and I lived with her all summer." Fabray – Quinn – (I'll call her Quinn when she's being all soft and friendly and Fabray when she's being a mega bitch.) smiles sadly. "She's scared of my reaction, isn't she?"

"Yep." I fiddle with my car keys. "Come with me and tell her yourself that you're fine with her. Maybe then she will stop fucking with Brittany's heart." Quinn nods.

"Let me grab my coat." She disappears around the corner and I follow her. Rachel is fast asleep on the couch, snoring gently into one of the pillows. She looks super uncomfortable so I bend down and lift her, shifting the pillow under her neck. When I stand, Quinn is fiddling with a blanket in her hand. She takes a second to drape the blanket over my sister's unconscious form and drops a note onto the pillow. "What?" She asks in reply to my raised eyebrow. "It would look bad if everyone is gone without a reason. I told you that I wasn't going to hurt her, didn't I?"

I nod grudgingly. She's certainly going in the right direction to get my respect. That doesn't mean that I should show her that. I grunt and throw the front door open, wincing at the cold wind that cuts under my jacket and, shivering, pull it closed. I hold the door open for Quinn and lock it behind us. "Let's go find us a Lopez."

We drive the few blocks to Puckerman's house and leap out to pound on the front door. Noah answers, bleary-eyed and rumpled.

"What?" His look turns lecherous when he sees us together and God only knows (poor God) what kind of sick thoughts he is entertaining. "Well, hello ladies."

"Ew, gross Puck. Is Santana here?" Puck shakes his head, runs a hand through his mohawk, grins at us. "Kay, thanks, bye." We slam the door in his face and make identical grossed-out faces until we realise that we are each others enemies and return to the car with our poker faces carefully in place.

"So, Santana?" I say to Quinn. "Where do you think she'll be?" I start the car and drive slowly along the side of the road. "At her house?" Quinn shrugs.

"It's worth a try."

She isn't at her house. None of the lights are on and, when Quinn utilises the spare key and checks the house, no one is home. She hops back into the car and frowns fiercely at the dashboard.

"Why didn't you go after her?" Quinn starts and looks over at me.

"What?"

"When she left – why didn't you go after her? I thought that's what friends are supposed to do." She pulls her right leg up and under her and sighs.

"She didn't want me to. I'm not exactly the person that she's most comfortable with."

"But, okay, no, I don't get it." Friendships are so _complicated_. "I thought you two are best friends."

"We are but," she shrugs. "I'm not exactly a nice person."

"I hadn't noticed."

"Oh shut up," she laughs.

"That wasn't a joke. I was being mean." She shrugs. "No, seriously, I still really don't like you." She smiles at me and her eyes fucking twinkle – full on _twinkle_ like Albus Fucking Dumbledore – and I sigh. That's it. My badassness is gone. I've been ruined. Even my sworn nemesis isn't scared of me anymore.

"My dad is kind of homophobic and I guess that Santana thinks that I am too. It doesn't help that I'm a," her mouth twists with self-deprecation, "mega-bitch at school. She thinks that I really am that person sometimes."

"Maybe you should talk to her." I really hope that the flatness of my tone and the way I don't look at her sufficiently shows my disgust for this conversation and the way that I really _don't care_ but from her reaction (thankful gaze, a smile) I don't think it worked.

"Yeah. I'll do that tonight." We cruise through the streets until Quinn points her finger at the park. "_There_!" And sure enough, a small, hunched figure is seated on the swings. After another look, we can see that it is definitely Santana. Quinn leaps out of the car the moment I park and I take a moment longer, delving in my back seat for a jumper I know that I threw there at some point. I hate to interrupt the tender moment between friends (truly, it will give me hives) but I really need to give Santana the jumper because she is shivering despite her jacket and her lips are a little blue and I'm not going to let her die on my watch.

THIRD PERSON POV

Santana was swinging herself gently as Quinn approached. She heard the crunch of mulch under her friends shoes, had looked up for long enough when she'd heard the car park to know who had come for her, and kept her head stubbornly lowered. Quinn sat herself in the swing next to hers and joined her in the slow, hypnotising back-and-forth. Neither felt the need to break the silence.

Jo slowly joined them and, avoiding all physical contact, dropped a soft sweater onto Santana's lap. She left after frowning gently at Quinn, who nodded to her.

The girls sat for a while longer before Santana unwrapped her stiff fingers from the swing chains and pulled her arm, then her head, through the sweater holes. It enveloped her in warmth and she sighed. The soft exhale was enough to start Quinn.

"San?" She questioned softly. "You okay?"

Santana didn't answer at first. She just stared at the little pile of mulch that her dragging feet were building in front of her. Answers to Quinn's question flickered through her mind and were easily, or not so easily, dismissed. She loved her friend, she really did, and she didn't want to give her the bullshit answer of 'I'm fine' (number one lie in the world). Neither did she want to let go of the wall that barricaded her, protected her, and pour all of her feelings onto the other girl.

All of Santana's life – her teenage life, that is – she had relied on Quinn being the strong one. The popular one, the one everyone looks up to, the one that can do no wrong. The one to do everything first so that Santana can back her up and improve it. The Unholy Trinity knew this. The members knew their friend's strengths and weaknesses and that made them both the best of friends and the worst of enemies.

Santana's weakness was that she wasn't brave. Not for herself. Her strength lay in being strong for others but, sometimes, it gets hard to help others and save nothing for yourself. Sometimes, it gets hard to lock yourself in a tiny little ball in the back of your mind and not acknowledge that part of yourself that you _know_ you will have to acknowledge. Sometimes, you want to be brave but you need an opportunity. For instance, your best friend asking you if you're okay and sitting still and listening, giving you the time to work up the elusive courage to say no.

Santana sucked in a deep breathe. Now was the time to start being brave.

"Quinn." Her blonde friend's head shot up. She had long since thought that Santana wasn't going to answer her. "I'm gay." Quinn didn't say anything and, because Santana refused to look her in the eyes, Santana missed the look of both shock and lack of judgement. She pressed on. "I'm in love with Brittany. I've been in love with Brittany since I was eleven and she took my hand before I had to give that stupid speech in English and she let me hold her duck keychain while I was giving the speech." She chuckles and rubs her hands on her jean-clad thighs. "You know, Britt thinks she lost that keychain and I've never told her that I still have it."

Quinn smirks. _That is _just_ like Santana_, her face reads. "And I know that your dad is an arsehole," Santana continues, "but can you just be my friend in this and not give me the 'gay is a sin' speech?" Her voice is small and insecure and Quinn takes a moment to reassure herself. She's never heard Santana sound like this. Bitchy, yes. Angry, yes. Happy, yes. But never _ever_ insecure. It occurs to her that maybe she hasn't been listening hard enough.

She kicks Santana in the ankle lightly and waits until the Latina meets her eyes. "San, I've known that you were in _love_ love with Brittany since you were eleven years old and you told me that Brittany let you hold her duck keychain and you weren't giving it back to her until she agreed to marry you." Santana blinks. She didn't remember that part of the story. "And I never listened to my dad – Russel. Not really. When he told me all that crap all I could think was that my friends were happy. And, come on, I spent all summer with you and Britt. I know what you were doing in your room with Brittany as much as I would like to forget those sounds. And with Rachel and her family…" Quinn trails off and shakes her head, pulling her eyes back to focus on Santana. "I'm sorry I never told you that I was fine with it before but-"

"-But I would have had a gay panic and gone all Lima Heights on you." Quinn laughs and nods.

"You'd cut a bitch."

"I have razor blades _all_ up in my hair." They share a smile. "So, we good?"

Quinn shakes her head and Santana's face falls a fraction in confusion. "Not a chance, bitch. You left Britt _crying_ at Rachel's house." Santana winces.

"Crying?"

"I would say sobbing, actually," Jo interjects. Santana and Quinn spin in their swings to see Jo lying casually on the slide right behind them. She frowns at their frowning at her. "What?"

"Have you been eavesdropping on us?" Quinn asks, indignant at the very idea. Jo grins and props herself up on her elbows.

"Absolutely. I was completely ready to step in if either one of you fucked up." She smirks. "Took you two long enough though. Seriously, what's the deal with not hurting each others feelings and all that touch-feely emotional 'I love you', 'I love you too' crap?" Santana smirks.

"Oh, you know. Just being human." Jo scoffs at that and jumps up and off the slide, staggering slightly and leaning against the playground equipment. "You okay?"

"Peachy keen." She gives the pair a thumbs-up. "Just a little dizzy." She digs her keys out and chucks them to Santana. "As punishment, you have to drive us back ho-" she cuts off abruptly what was clearly going to be the word 'home' and finishes with "to Rachel's house." She leaves before either one of the younger women can say anything and hops in the back seat. "Drive, woman!"

The drive to the Berry residence was silent and awkward. Rachel waiting for them when they returned turned more awkward due to the following:

"Where were you guys?" To which Jo replied,

"Oh, you know. Drugs, drinking, having group sex. The usual." She grins at Rachel's shocked reaction and Quinn's blanching and Santana's identical smirk. "Okay then. I'm off to bed." She starts up the stairs before calling down, "Santana, you want to collect Brittany?" Santana races up the stairs but when none of the three come downstairs Rachel and Quinn exchange confused glances, and Rachel shrugs.

"Sleepover?"

And that is how the first Berry-Corcoran-Fabray-Lopez-Pierce sleepover occurred.

The next day, the Berry fathers were up and active at their usual six a.m. start. What they didn't expect was the horde of hungry teens that stomped down their stairs. First came Jo, which was useful seeing as they had to talk to her.

"Jo?" She glanced up with an angry glower and the Berry dads had enough sense to let her sip her coffee for a few minutes before talking to her again. "We were wondering if we could talk to you about something. In private." 'In private' being their code word for 'without Rachel overhearing'.

Jo went with them happily enough, certain that it would be a 'Rachel's birthday is coming up, what should we get for her?' kind of conversation, as it generally is when it is a 'private' discussion. What she wasn't prepared for was the tube of anti-scarring cream on Hiram's desk and their serious expressions.

"We had a chat with the doctor and nurse that looked after you on your recent hospital admission." Jo sucks in a breath and makes her face remain impassive. "We gather, from the discussion, that you have some serious scarring on your back."

JO POV

"We gather, from the discussion, that you have some serious scarring on your back." I turn and sit in the corner armchair and cross my legs. I take a long sip of coffee – ah, the life-giving liquid – and watch the two men with a level gaze. I wait for them to continue.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Leroy asks kindly.

"Not particularly." My blunt tone is harsh in the loving atmosphere and I wince very slightly. For once, I didn't mean to sound rude or abrasive. It just came out that way. I sigh. "Leroy, Hiram, look," I run my thumb over the contrastingly cool ceramic of the mug and smile slightly. "To be utterly frank, it is none of your business." Uh oh. Hiram didn't like that. He frowns.

"We are your guardians. You're living with us and, as you are not legally an adult, we"

"I am an adult." They blink. "I'm twenty-one."

"No you're not." Leroy argues. "You were twenty when you came here. You said so in your emails." I nod slowly.

"Yes, but I had my birthday last month." Hiram frown deepens and Leroy pouts.

"You had your birthday and you didn't tell us?" I frown at them.

"Should I have?" Leroy sighs and shakes his head, lowering his face into his hands. "Leroy?"

"I don't know what to do with you. You are so different." He doesn't sound angry. Just bemused.

"Um. Okay." Hiram pats Leroy on the shoulder and grins at me.

"Look, Jo," Hiram starts, "we just want to know that you are alright. Are you alright?" I nod. Not frantically because then they will think that I am trying to convince them and not slowly because then they will think that I am not entirely certain. Just normally. Like any other nod I would give. (Except for the nod I give to the question 'would you like some coffee?' because _that _nod is like the nod you give when someone asks you 'would you like to remain alive?' when they are threatening you and you answer with 'yes please, very much so'.)

Hiram doesn't look convinced so I smile at him. "Hiram, Leroy, you guys are fantastic and I really like you but I'm not comfortable talking to you about it. I'm sorry. But really, whatever the doctor or nurse said to you about it, I think you're taking it out of context. It's not a big deal. It's a little scarring from an accident that I had a couple of years ago." I pause, look down and away. Make sure my timing is perfect and, hesitant look up with a slightly smile. "Please, just…trust me?" I can practically see Leroy melting and nodding, backing off, but Hiram is a tough nut to crack. He smiles anyway because he is a nice guy but his eyes are appraising me still. I let it go. He probably won't say anything.

"Alright then." Hiram claps his hands and chucks the cream at me, which I tuck into my pocket. I give them another small smile and then backtrack the hell out of his study, still drinking my coffee. I leave the door open a crack and lean against the wall outside so I can listen to their conversation.

"Are you worried, Lee?" Hiram's voice deepens to a rough, intimate tone and I feel uncomfortable, eavesdropping as I am on a rather private conversation between the husbands. Still, it involves me so I have a right to know what they are saying.

"Worried? Of course I am! She didn't tell us it was her birthday." Leroy moans in despair and I grin. _Such_ a drama queen. "I could have given her a wonderful party and just think of all those presents I've wanted to buy for her that you told me I couldn't just _give _to her." (Ooh, presents! Been a while since I've had one of those…) "I would have had an excuse, darling!" Hiram chuckles and I can hear movement and a sigh, telling me that Hiram has stood and they are probably hugging.

"You know what I mean, Lee."

"Oh Hiram, she's a strong girl. I'd like to say that I'm not worried but, well, you know what I think about her already." A pause. They are no doubt eye-telepathically communicating. "So, breakfast?" Footsteps approach the study door and I flee, mind awhirl.

What does Leroy about me? I can't help but think that his slightly over-the-top delight with me is just a mask – a very effective one – and he really doesn't like having me here. Good thing that I've…but no. I won't resort to that until I really feel that I should.

Instead, I settle at the breakfast stool and spend the ten minutes until Rachel is due to wake up in a state of coffee induced nirvana. I love coffee. The smell of coffee, the taste of coffee, the feel of a warm coffee mug in my hand – love love love. That is one thing I can admit to loving. No one can take it from me!

Next down the stairs are Santana and Brittany. They look a little flushed but freshly showered and I shake my head. I _really_ don't want to think about what they might have been doing in my bathroom. Especially when Santana smirks at me.

Brittany tries to take my coffee but Santana manages to sneakily take it from her before she can drink any (God – Brittany on coffee. I can't even fathom the excitableness of _that_ particular monster), sips from it, and returns it. I stare down at it for a moment and then narrow my eyes at her. She smirks again.

"Pancakes, girls?" Hiram flips the pancakes expertly and I smile at him then blink. Hiram? I thought that Leroy was the chef in the family. He huffs good-naturedly at my surprise. "Leroy isn't the only one with cooking abilities." He lowers his voice and dramatically stage whispers, "actually, I just pander to his whims. I'm a much better cook." I can't help but grin at Leroy's offended bellow from the next room and Brittany giggles. I nudge her with my foot roll my eyes – _don't encourage them_, I'm saying. She just giggles again and then drowns her pancakes in maple syrup. Santana and I gape at it in despair. She is going to be uncontrollable today.

Then I remember that I don't have to go to school due to my concussion and it's all on her. I bare my teeth in a wicked grin and Santana looks genuinely nervous at the idea of a hyperactive Brittany. She is already bouncing and she's only had one mouthful.

Rachel skips downstairs completely ready, on track with her morning routine. I withhold commenting on the fact that she doesn't have to go to school and leave it to Leroy who, walking in with his newspaper and coffee, rips his glasses off his nose and exhales harshly.

"Rachel," he sighs. "You don't have to go to school."

"That's okay." She beams and dances over to the pancake stack, helping herself.

"No, Rachel, you aren't supposed to go to school." Rachel frowns at her Daddy.

"Daddy, I _am _going to school. I can't just miss more school. Whatever would the teachers think of me?" Santana rolls her eyes.

"Maybe that you're a normal kid instead of a super annoying midget?" She flushes when Leroy and Hiram glance over at her and frown. "Um…" They turn back to Rachel after a few seconds but Santana can tell that they are not amused. I'm not either. I make a cutting motion across my throat with my knife, threatening her, and bug my eyes out and she stifles a laugh so she doesn't disturb the Berry's discussion. She makes a returning gesture – too rude to mention here – and I grin. We trade a few more and then Brittany becomes aware of what we are doing. Most likely because she has already demolished her stack (of _six _) pancakes and has maple syrup all over her face.

"Here, Britt." I grab her face and start wiping at the sticky syrup, grimacing. That shit is never going to come off. Santana stands and swiftly, easily, binds Brittany's hair up in a perfect ponytail with a flourish. She nods in satisfaction and then dumps herself down on the stool next to Britt, pulling her plate over to her. The syrup _still _isn't coming off and Brittany is just making it worse by trying to lick it off so I grab a tea towel and wet it before draping it over Brittany's face.

"What does this do?" She asks, voice muffled by the cloth. I sit back down and smirk at my plate.

"It means that I don't have to look at your face." I can feel Brittany pouting into the tea towel but she doesn't make any motion to move it. I think she likes the cool cloth on her face. She just sits there with her head tilted back and twiddles her thumbs. After a few minutes, Santana looks up and blinks at her blonde girl and, smiling gently, tugs on the cloth. Brittany gasps and blinks up at the ceiling.

"Thanks Sanny!" Then she bounces away and up the stairs, back to my room, presumably. Santana and I return to our breakfasts, shaking our heads. Rachel stomps over and dumps her bag on the ground. She begins to eat angrily and Santana snarls at her. Surprisingly, for Santana at least, Rachel snarls back and I watch as Santana recoils and then they have a silent, glaring, bitch fight. Moments pass and Santana relaxes.

"So, what's up Berry?" Rachel sulks.

"Dad and Daddy won't let me go to school."

"Yeah, no shit – sorry – no duh, Berry." She glances over at Leroy and Hiram who give her warning glances. "You, uh, _freaking_ hit your head because you were such a wuss."

Rachel stares at Santana thoughtfully for a few minutes. "You know, you could just cut the expletives out of your speech altogether and then you wouldn't worry about accidentally swearing in front of my fathers." Santana shrugs.

"I like a challenge." She pokes at the remains of her pancakes and I grab the plate from her and scrape the scraps into the bin. She frowns at me.

"No playing with your food in this household." She huffs and spins off the bar stool and up the stairs, presumably also to my room to help Brittany get ready for school/play with Brittany. I cough into my palm to get the Berry dads and Rachel's attention. "Speaking of households…" I pause and wonder how to broach the topic. As per usual, my mouth decides that a straightforward approach is the way to go. "So, I'm moving out."

**Hey y'all, what did you think? I know, I know, it's mean of me to leave it at that but think of it as added incentive to continue reading. Muhahahaha! Ahem. Anyway, I loved writing this and I hope you liked reading it. As per usual, reviews are appreciated. Anything from a simple 'yay!' to an in-depth study of my writing style (though with the latter, I generally appreciate constructive criticism or nice things rather than flames. Though I haven't been badly flamed yet. Please don't, I fear I might cry. I mean, you can if you want but ***** shrug * on your head be it. Do you **_**really**_** want me to cry? Note: I probably won't cry) and anything in between. Much love to you all and, as always, happy reading, readers :)**


	28. Chapter 28

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Twenty-Eight**

**Glee isn't mine.**

**Please enjoy. Seriously, you really have to enjoy this because I freaked out while I was writing it. I'm like: "THIS MUST BE PERFECT" and my friends were like "what the hell is going on?" while I was rage-facing my computer screen. I'm a little frantic at the moment, what with this and my assignments and exams, plus another fanfic I'm considering writing. (I'll tell you about that later, maybe. I **_**will**_** tell you that it isn't Glee related.)**

JO POV

"I'm moving out." I can remember saying the words and then, after that, everything is a bit of a blur of Rachel's puppy dog eyes – hurt, heartbreak, sadness. Her cutlery clutters loudly onto the bench top. I grab the tea towel I had previously draped over Brittany and wipe up the syrup that has splattered from Rachel's fork.

"You're…moving out?" Rachel sounds as confused as she looks.

I nod. "I've, um. I've been looking around for a few weeks now and I found a really nice apartment. I was going to tell you guys earlier," I include Leroy and Hiram in the conversation by nodding at them. Doesn't go too well. They're sort of just _staring_ now and I make an awkward movement where my shoulder blades move back, up, and towards each other – kind of like a shrug but, well, awkward. "Um, well, you know. The hospital trip kind of got in the way and before then there wasn't really an appropriate time." They still aren't saying anything. Awkward… I wanted this to be nice and something we could talk about together but if they don't want this to be that then I suppose I'll just have to return to my normal ways. Neutral. _Okay, you hate everyone. Go!_

"The movers are coming for my things on Saturday," I say flatly.

"You're…moving out?" Rachel restates and I nod. I've only said it, what, four times now? "_Why_?"

"Because I want to." Rachel shoves her stool back and stands, wraps her arms around herself, and looks at me like I've killed her puppy.

"Did I do something wrong? Did we?" She clutches now at her daddies forearms in despair. _So dramatic_. I shake my head no.

"No, of course not Rach. Hell," I laugh. "It's not like I'm going back to New York or anything like that. I'm just moving out." I don't really know what to say in response to her blatant insecurity. I mean – what the big deal? I'm just…moving out.

"Thenwhy?" She asks again and this time I make a curious kind of noise – a cross between a sigh and a grunt.

"Because I _want_ to." I repeat.

"No! Tell me why you want to move out!"

"I _just did_." There are footsteps on the staircase and I look over my shoulder to see Quinn Fabray standing at the base of the staircase, looking slightly uncomfortable. I guess she realises that she's walked right into a heated discussion or fight or whatever this is and doesn't want to come any further. I decide to help her out by being a bitch. "Back up the stairs, Fabray!" I point up to the second level; the girl retreats timidly.

Now, to be completely honest with you, I _really_ don't know how Rachel manages to make the cognitive leap that she makes next but, well, it happens.

"Oh my god." I turn back to her and she jabs a finger at me shakily, angrily. I frown at it. "This is about _Quinn_." The footsteps pause halfway up and without looking at the cheerleader I point up the stairs again. She continues. I stare down at my sister. She is pale but slowly, slowly, a flush of angry red is making its way up her neck and spreading to her face. She barks a laugh. "This is about _Quinn_." She repeats.

"Wait, what? You think I'm moving out because of…Fabray?" Rachel places her hands on her hips and nods; her lips are pursed angry-thoughtfully. "Why would you think that?"

"Well are you?"

"Am I what? Moving out because of her?" I snort. "No."

"Really?" She doesn't look like she believes me. "Because I know that you don't like her-"

"Oh yes, excellent deduction. I wonder what gave that away," I comment snidely.

"-and you don't like that we're friends now." I sigh. Take a step closer. Stay where I am when Rachel stubbornly takes a step back, away from me. Sigh again.

"Seriously, Rach, I'm happy that you're friends. Fucking ecstatic." I ignore Hiram's cough of 'language'. "Really, I am." Damn my naturally sarcastic tone! It makes everything I say sound insincere. "I mean, sure, I wish that you'd made friends with someone else but hey, you want Quinn? That's fine. I'm moving out because I _like_ to live on my own. I have really enjoyed living with you guys, really," I meet Leroy and Hiram's eyes, "but I just want my own space."

"You just said that you don't like her, though." She's still focused on that. Quinn Fabray. I drag my right hand down over my eyes and my nose and my mouth. Release my breath harshly out of my mouth.

How did this happen? I thought it would be an easy conversation. 'Hey, I'm moving out.' 'Oh cool, need any help?' 'Sure, that would be nice.' 'Okay.' But no. That's not what happens. Not for Jo Corcoran. No, Jo Corcoran gets a dramatic half-sister who is, at first, certain that Jo Corcoran is doing this because she's done something wrong and then because Jo Corcoran is angry that she's friends with someone that she doesn't particularly like. (And Jo Corcoran has a _stupid fucking brain_ that insists in talking about Jo Corcoran in third person!)

"So what if I don't like her?" I ask, tired of this nonsense.

"So, you're lying to me. You _aren't_ happy that we're friends."

"I'm happy that you _have_ a friend," I snap and immediately regret it when Rachel flinches. "No, hey, Rach. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." She lowers her head and mutters something, presumably a defence of her popularity. That or she's bitching at me. "What? I can't hear you."

She raises her head. "I _said_ you're just jealous." I laugh.

"Oh, yeah. Go you! You get to be friends with the head bitch. Huzzah. How will I ever survive without her esteemed friendship?" I pretend to swoon against the kitchen bench and Rachel narrows her eyes.

"I didn't say you were jealous of me. You're jealous of Quinn." I freeze and straighten my back. I take a step closer; all play is gone from my body. She wants to go there? Alright, we'll go there.

"What was that?" Maybe it is the tinge of homicidal intent not even slightly masked by the playful, menacing tone I adopt, maybe it's coincidence, but Leroy and Hiram take this moment to stand between us and make placating gestures. We aren't having any of that. Rachel shoves past her fathers and jabs me in the chest. I slap her hand away and scoff. "I'm sorry, what did you say Rachie?" I cup a hand around my ear and lean down an inch. She is fuming. "I'm jealous of _Quinn_?"

"That's right," she spits. I nod and smile at her condescendingly.

"Uh huh. Okay. So, remind me why I would be jealous of Quinn?" Rachel copies my posture. I don't know if she's aware of it. She throws her shoulders back and juts her chin up to glare into my eyes.

"Because I'm spending more time with her than I am with you." I spread my hands.

"So?"

"_So_, you're just being a baby! You don't have to make up this 'I'm moving out' story to get my attention. That's sick." I flinch. _Don't have to make up stories Josephine. That's wrong_. This conversation is echoing another in a highly unpleasant way. "If you _want_ me to pay attention to you, you just have to ask." She ends in a pleasant tone, but final – with some strength behind it – that makes me sick. _I know the truth, sweetie. _

I bite my tongue viciously to stop from either a) puking or b) saying some truly vile things. It's not really Rachel's fault. Okay, well, not entirely. She's saying some pretty deranged things over something as small as my moving out but she's pretty deranged. I can't hate her for being what she is. _But you do_, that little insidious voice whispers darkly. I squash it viciously. I don't hate her. But I am feeling some serious dislike.

"You're deranged."

"Admit it!" She jabs me again and I close my eyes for a second. She sees the quick flash of fury though and takes a step back. The stupid girl then recovers and jabs me again. "Admit it Jo, it's a bid for attention!"

"You would know, _little sister_." I can't help the way I say it – it's mocking, cruel. I feel my body move: muscles bunching, tightening, relaxing, shifting. I circle around her. "I don't think I've had a day here where you haven't thrown a tantrum or stormed out. You are the definition of a bid for attention."

"And what about you, _big sis_?" Oh, that does hurt. Her cutting tone perfectly mimics mine. "You're the definition of fucked up." Another anxious 'language' sounds very far away. I feel Leroy fluttering around the bubble of hostile energy that is being emitted by us and can vaguely hear voices murmuring worried goodbyes and the door opening and closing. I suppose that would be the girls leaving for school. All I can focus on is Rachel and her delusions. "You lie and you fight and you don't trust anyone and you don't sleep at night and you are just completely idiotic." Each of these points is delivered with a partnering jab. Jab after jab into my shoulder. I grab her wrist and squeeze warningly. She tugs away but I hold fast. I'm not hurting her; she just can't get away.

"Stop that," I growl. "Want to know what I think? I think that _you_ think you're perfect and trust me _kiddo_," and oh, how wonderful, I've just tainted my nickname for her,"you really aren't. You're just a self-absorbed, self-important, drama queen." I drop her hand and turn on my heel, walking out of the room. I can't look at her right now. Naturally, she follows me. She grabs my shoulder and spins me around to face her.

"Well, you're a liar!"

"And you don't listen to people." I retaliate.

"You don't care about anyone!" I scowl at her (that's not true. I care about her – I've just pushed that fact out of my mind right now) and deliver my trump card.

"You will never be as good as Barbara Streisand." She recoils and clutches her chest.

"You didn't." She murmurs, hurt. Her eyes are big and wide in her suddenly pale face and I scowl and brush past her, heading to my room. "Where do you think you're going?" I pull myself up the stairs and she runs after me. Since I was the one concussed, she catches up quickly despite my longer legs. I don't quite manage to slam the door in her face but I give it a good go. She kicks it before it can close and it slams against the plasterboard, shaking the wall, possibly leaving a dent. We don't look.

"What the fuck?" I yell.

"What are you doing? We aren't done." I snarl and turn away from her, grabbing my duffel from under the bed.

"We are done and I'm packing." She tries to tug the bag out of my hands and I plant my hand on her shoulder and shove her backwards, lightly, onto the bed. She bounces right back up but I've already stuffed half of my clothes into the bag. "I'm packing and I'm going to my apartment that is entirely real and not a bid for attention or one of those _lies_ I'm so fond of."

She blocks the doorway when I go to leave. I drop my bag, grab her around the waist and hoist her onto my shoulder. Then I walk her to her room and drop her on her bed and walk out. I pick up my duffel and my guitar and grab my car keys from the key bowl. Leroy and Hiram are standing in the kitchen doorway, aghast. I sigh.

"I'm so sorry, guys." I can't meet their eyes. What I've just done is…unforgivable. Rachel is their daughter and I'm just this person that they've let live with them. And still, Leroy reaches out towards me gently. I veer away from his hand.

"Jo, this doesn't have anything to do with our discussion this morning, does it?" I appreciate how quietly Hiram says it – cautious and caring – and shake my head.

"Not at all." I don't bother saying (again) that I've been planning this for a good week and a half and that they only had that discussion with me about a half-hour ago. Hiram nods. I swallow and force the emotions down. My voice is flat and cold. "The movers will be here for my things tomorrow. Thank you for having me." I know that it's formal and said through stiff lips but I don't want them to worry. I don't want them to care. I just want to go. Plus, I'm still furious with Rachel and I don't want to take that out on the men that I've grown to…well, I'm not going to say love. I've grown extremely fond of them. Leroy stares at me. I slip through the front door and throw my things into the backseat of my car (except my guitar. I gently place that in the passenger seat.)

I'm not sure that I should be driving so soon after a concussion but it's a risk that I'm willing to take and I head over to my apartment. I look at the clock. Seven minute drive. I slam a hand on the dashboard. Why the fuck did Rachel make such a big deal out of this? I'm seven fucking minutes away!

I stomp my way to the landlord and he hands me the keys without asking about, well, anything. It might have something to do with the fact that I am dark and tall and terrifying.

I let myself in and dump my bag onto the ground. I close the door behind me, lean my back against the wood, and slide to the floor. And then I sit in the dark of my new apartment, wrap my arms around my knees, and I cry.

For all of ten minutes. And then I stand up, wipe my tears away, and mentally scold myself for being so weak. I take a look around my apartment. Maybe I can convince the moving company to get my things today?

The apartment is stripped bare, stark and vulnerable. I can see the exposed wood floor, the skirting boards, the little puncture marks in the walls where paintings used to hang. I wipe my nose and under my eyes and crick my neck. Time to get to work. I fish my purse out from my bag and, leaving my things here, take the stairs down the two levels and hop back in my car. Shopping time.

I ignore that voice that tells me I'm doing this to forget, that I'm trying to quell the bubbling emotions, that I should deal with things rather than push people away and run away. I ignore it as easily as I have every day of my life and drive to the mall, making a mental checklist. I need: kitchenware, cutlery, sheets, maybe a new couch…

RACHEL POV

She's gone. I'm sitting on her bed, legs crossed, and looking at her things. She didn't take much with her. Clothes, her phone, and not much else. Her books are still in her bookshelf, her little knickknacks haphazard over her desk. Every little quirk she left around the house just reinforces the fact that she isn't here.

"Rachel?" Daddy is home today. Dad went to work but Daddy called up and asked for a day off, telling them that he was worried about me. They probably assumed it was because we'd been at the hospital but I think it might have something more to do with the fact that I've been sobbing all day. She's been gone for – I look at my watch – seven hours now.

"Yes Daddy?"

"Do you want me to make you something to eat?" I consider the rumbling of my stomach and the way that the gastric acid is making me uncomfortable. I pout.

"No." I deserve this. The hunger and nauseous feeling. Daddy wraps his arms around me and tugs me back into his chest, resting his head on the top of mine.

"Rachie," he coos. "I can hear your stomach."

"No you can't," I say petulantly. I know it's childish and I know that not eating won't help anything but I'm sad and tired and feel entirely entitled to being childish. I'm only seventeen! My stomach growls very loudly just then and I sag back into his hold.

"Come here sweetie." He turns me and I fling my arms around his neck and burying my face into his tweed jacket. It smells like flour and warmth and exactly like Daddy has always smelt. I start sobbing again. He strokes my hair away from my ears and down my back. "Okay sweetie, let it out." There aren't many tears left so I only cry for a minute or so and then I feel so tired that he has to help me to my room. He sits on the edge of my bed after he tucks me in and pats my knee. "I'm going to make you some toast with jam and a glass of juice and you are going to eat _all_ of it. Understood?" I nod. "Good. And then you are going to go to sleep and you are not going to cry and then we will help Jo move her things into her new place tomorrow. Understood?" I nod again, this time sullenly. "Alright then. I'll be back in a few minutes." He pats my knee again and then shoves himself into a standing position. Leans over. Strokes my hair. "Everything is going to be okay sweetie."

After he leaves, my phone buzzes.

**From Quinn Fabray: **Hey Rachel, are you okay?

I hold the phone in my hand for a few minutes. Then I toss it to the other side of the room. Childish, I know, I _know_, but I don't want to talk to anyone. I just walk to sulk. The phone buzzes again as Daddy walks in with my breakfast/lunch and he looks at it.

"Want me to get that for you?" I shake my head. "Alright then." He watches me intently to make sure I eat every bite, even when I groan and try to push it away after a bit, and finally stands and takes the plate and glass. "Good girl." He brushes my hair away from my face and I tug my blanket over my eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?" He murmurs. I shake my head vigorously. "Okay." Cue pat in the general knee area. "I'll be downstairs." And then, with a kiss on my forehead, he disappears out the door.

A little while later I hear a door opening and closing. Footsteps on the staircase. A knock on my door.

"Go away Daddy." Silence.

"It's, um, it's Quinn." I sit bolt upright at her soft voice and dive out of my bed. I catch a glimpse of myself in my mirror and groan. I look _terrible_. I run my hand through my hair a few times to try and get it to sit nicely but give up and tie it back in a messy bun. I change my shirt quickly – this one has a jam stain on it – and then fling my bedroom door open.

"Hi," I breathe.

"Hey." She is clad in red. Her Cheerio's uniform. She looks perfect. "How are you?" I sigh and, to my horror, feel my face crumple into despair again.

"She's _gone_," I wail. "Why would she do that? Everything is awful and I can't even sing!" It's true. I tried. I tried to sing the betrayal and loss I felt, as is necessary when one is feeling this level of emotion, but I couldn't. Quinn smiles slightly and I frown. "This is not amusing, Quinn."

"I'm sorry Rachel." She tames her facial expression – _as she should!_ – but a second later, smiles again. "It's just that I meant, how is your head? Because you fainted? I mean, you were in hospital yesterday." I just stare at her for a few seconds. Her voice is very melodic, did you know? It is probably due to the fact that I find myself unable to sing at this present moment that I am focusing on her voice but I very much enjoy listening to it.

"You have a lovely voice, Quinn." She blinks. Shocked, then, but takes it in her stride.

"Thank you Rachel. Are you okay?" Worried.

"Oh yes. I'm very well, thank you. Yes, my head is fine. Everything is fine, other than the fact that my sister is gone." Quinn nods slowly.

"Right. May I come in?" She gestures slightly with her hand into my room and I stand to the side. She sweeps in and I am suddenly nervous. Her disposition in addition to the uniform makes me nervous. She seems so like the HBIC that I can feel myself trying to be smaller, less obvious. I remain standing on the opposite side of the room when she settles onto my desk chair. _Be brave_, I tell myself, but it is one of those 'easier said than done' moments.

"May I get anything for you?" She peers at me and shakes her head. I wonder what she's thinking. She drops her bag on the ground and, crossing her legs underneath her, she folds her hands in her lap and watches me. "Are you sure? We have plenty of drinks and food and-"

"Rachel." I stop talking. Right in front of me, Quinn relaxes obviously and rather than the HBIC mask, she is now more open. Okay, no. Not quite. She is still the same Quinn – guarded face and guarded eyes – but the corners of her eyes are crinkling with her smile, albeit a small one, and she laughs a little. "Rachel, relax. We were fine yesterday, weren't we?"

That's true. Quinn shared my bed last night. I know – such a strange concept. She hated me, or couldn't stand me at least, up until two weeks ago and she shared my bed last night – an action reserved for the best of friends. We'd both been exhausted though and she'd kind of just fallen into my bed and refused to leave. It had been easy, I want to remind her, because were both delirious with sleepiness. Still, if we werecapable of easy camaraderie last night, we should still be capable of it now.

"We were," I agree.

"Then relax." Her shoulders stiffen for a second but she forces herself to relax again, obviously demonstrating what I should do. "Tell me about Jo."

At Jo's name I feel both anger and sadness. Mostly sadness. "She's gone."

"Yes. You told me," Quinn drawls. I poke my tongue out at her and she laughs. "Come on, tell me about the fight. It sounded epic." She sounds almost upset that she missed it and I say so. "Are you kidding? Of course I'm upset I missed it! To see Rachel Berry destroy her opponent? It's fantastic." I avert my eyes. "You did win, didn't you?"

"I came close." I say stiffly. She gapes.

"You lost?"

"I refuse to comment."

"You _did_. You lost. How is that possible?" I huff and, now sufficiently relaxed to sit in Quinn's presence, move onto my bed.

"She cheated." Quinn mouths _cheated_ and I nod. "She said," my breath catches in my throat. "She said that I would never sing as well as my idol, Barbara Streisand. I was distracted."

"So basically you were bawling your eyes out."

"I do not appreciate your mocking tone, Quinn." Quinn masters her expression and changes it to an appropriate level of commiseration. I lean back onto my headboard and drag a pillow over my stomach. Bringing my knees up, I rest my chin on them and pout. "It was awful." She nods.

"Can I have a pillow?" I frown.

"Are you even listening to me?" She nods.

"Sure. You don't appreciate my mocking and it was awful. Can I have a pillow?" I huff again and toss her a pillow. "Thanks." She adjusts her seat and clutches the pillow to her chest. "Okay, what was the fight about?"

"You didn't hear?" She shakes her head.

"I missed the start and then it just was a lot of yelling when we left."

"Oh. Jo moved out." Quinn nods, waiting for me to continue. "That's what it was about. Jo moved out."

"Are you serious?" I scrunch my face up. What would the appropriate response be? It sounds like a trick question, especially with her dumbfounded tone, but the answer I want to give doesn't seem to be particularly tricky.

"Yes?" I answer hesitantly.

"Why would you fight over that? She's just moving out." Anger flashes through me again and I sit up straighter.

"She didn't tell me! If she'd actually been planning this for weeks then she would have told me. This is just, just a bid for attention!" I feel like I'm fighting Jo all over again except that this is Quinn and I'm supposed to just be telling her why I'm upset. I rein in my emotions and take a deep breath. "She's just upset because I'm friends with you."

Quinn nods slowly. "Yeah, I heard that bit. What was that about?"

"She's jealous because we're spending time together and she doesn't get to spend time with me. And she doesn't like you."

"Rachel," her voice is hesitant. "Are you sure that you aren't just reading a bit much into this? Couldn't she just have, you know, moved out?" I twist the corner of the pillowcase between my fingers. "Rachel?"

"Maybe," I admit.

"So why did you get so worked up?" I sigh and twist the pillowcase a little more. "Rachel?"

"Because!" I glower at the bedspread and hear rather than see Quinn stand from the chair and come to sit on the bed next to me. I shuffle across so she had more space and she smiles at me. We don't say anything for a little while.

"It's been ages since I've done this," she remarks quietly. I tilt my head so I can watch her. She isn't looking at me. She is looking at her feet, crossed neatly at the ankles, and her legs, stretched out compared to mine pulled up at the knees. "San and Britt usually just watch the T.V. with me or we," she pauses thoughtfully. "I don't actually know what we do. We just hang out. We don't really talk."

"Sometimes you don't have to talk, right?" She nods easily.

"True." Then smiles at me. "But it's nice." I fight a squeal. She's adorable. There is a hint of a blush. Self-conscious. I recognise the signs. Not quite meeting my eyes, blushing, fingers fiddling. I nod eagerly.

"Yeah. It is nice." I feel like it's my turn to contribute so I snuggle into my pillows and hug my pillow even more tightly. "I just met her. She's only been living here for," I start counting mentally but can't be bothered, "about two months and then suddenly she says she's moving out and she needs space and I couldn't help but think that I'd done something wrong, you know?" Quinn nods. I'm glad she's not looking at me. She has eyes that are (_beautiful,_ my traitor mind supplies) very piercing and seem like they are judging you constantly. With Quinn, I wouldn't be surprised if she was. "I just can't believe that she just _wants_ to move out. There has to be a reason!"

"She did say she wants space. Maybe that's it."

"Mm, maybe." I frown.

"Well, what happened next?"

"You came downstairs." Quinn nods. "And Jo yelled at you and I though maybe it was about you because I know that she doesn't like you and I thought that she was moving out because you're here sometimes." Quinn's head jerks slightly and I reach out a hand, hesitant to touch her, and lay my hand gently on hers. "It's not you. I mean, she said it isn't." She gives me a weak smile.

"Yeah, we had a chat. She said she won't kill me so I suppose I'm in her good books now." I laugh. I can just imagine Jo's face when she says that to Quinn. Then I shiver. She really can be scary sometimes. Like when she attacked Dave. "So what happened next?"

"I…" Guilt rises up sharply and tears prickle my eyes. "I accused her of just making it up because she wants my attention and then," I shrug. "She said things, I said things. None of it was very nice." Quinn nods. I'm infinitely grateful that she doesn't press the subject because it hurts to think about.

"And you spent all of today crying?" I blush.

"Is it that obvious?" She peeks out of the corner of her eye at my face and tactfully shakes her head no.

"Not at all. Just a guess." I chuckle and brush at my swollen eyes.

"Thanks Quinn but I know I look awful." She turns her hand over – I didn't realise that I was still holding it – and squeezes.

"You look fine, Rach." She frowns. "But," she bites her lip. "About this morning." I nod a 'go ahead' and she sighs. "I think you might have over reacted just a tiny bit." She holds up her other hand with her index finger and thumb a miniscule distance apart and squints through the gap they make at me. I chuckle again at her actions. Childish.

"I know I did." She relaxes. I can't blame her for being tense. I am well known for my diva attitude so it is no surprise that she might have thought that I would be upset with that comment. Well, I am upset, but not with her. Just at the fact that I really, definitely, _really_ overreacted. "What do I do?"

She shrugs. "Go and talk to her." I twist in place so I can stare at her. She obliges me and stares back. "What?"

"That is a _fantastic_ idea. Why didn't I think of that?"

She preens. "Probably because I'm at least twice as smart as you." I shove her out of the bed and, in the brief moment of silence, my heart stops. Too far? But she starts laughing, sprawled on the floor, a surprised and marvellously loud laugh, completely different from her normal and very appropriately attractive laugh that suits the Queen Bee. She actually _snorts_ and then, with one hand clapped over her nose and mouth, continues laughing hysterically. I can't help but join in. I want to make her laugh like this forever.

When we _finally_ calm down, Quinn stands, grabs her bag, and drags me from my room. "Good afternoon, Mr Berry," she calls. Daddy peeks out from the kitchen and beams at Quinn.

"Quinn, darling, you succeeded in bringing my little hermit daughter downstairs!" Quinn nods. "Marvellous." He then pulls a plate of brownies from the counter. "Congratulatory brownie?" Quinn laughs and shakes her head.

"Oh, no, I can't. Coach Sylvester has us on a wicked diet." Wicked? Quinn Fabray says wicked? There is so much that I don't know about her. "But thank you." She gives him a wide smile that is genuinely pleased and I can see that Daddy wants to give her a huge hug. He gives me a questioning glance ("can I hug your friend?" it asks) and I smile. He places the brownies down and holds his arms wide. After a second of hesitation, Quinn steps into the semi-circle his arms make and he squeezes her tightly before releasing her.

"Well. What are you two up to now?"

"We were thinking of going to see Jo," I admit. Daddy's eyes light up.

"Oh wonderful! Will you take her this?" He hands me a casserole and a cake and a box of cookies. How did I miss him baking these? "We'll have to have a housewarming party sometime soon when she is settled into her apartment but until then, I don't want her starving. She's not bad at cooking but I don't want her living off take-out and I know that you girls would do that if your Dad and I weren't here to cook for you." I shrug. It's true. "What about you, Quinn? Do you cook?"

Quinn smiles. "I love cooking." Daddy nudges me.

"This one's a keeper," he whispers loudly. I roll my eyes and, laden with the goodies, make my way to the front door. I pretend that I'm in a huff. Quinn chases me and opens the front door for me.

"Bye, Mr Berry!"

"It's Leroy, sweetie!" is the last thing we hear before the door closes. Quinn follows me to her car and opens the passenger door for me, letting me fold myself in, and closing it again for me. She then hops into the drivers seat and, before she starts the car, she grins at me.

"I'm a keeper, huh?" I groan and, after manoeuvring my arm out from under the foodstuff, whack her shoulder.

"Drive, woman!"

**Okey dokey, there you go! Hope you enjoyed. Blah blah blah reviews blah blah. Happy reading, readers :)**


	29. Chapter 29

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Twenty-Nine**

**Glee isn't mine.**

**Please enjoy. I'm so sorry about the delay – I meant to upload earlier but, well, it wasn't written. Haven't slept in days. Apologies for mistakes. **

JO POV

This morning, the apartment was starkly empty. This morning, the fridge made funny sounds that only increased the niggling feeling I had that I was in a horror movie and I was about to die. The eerie light shining from where the fridge seal wasn't quite fitted correctly didn't help matters either.

Now, decked out in all the finery I bought (and my use of the term 'finery' is, yes, sarcasm. You guessed it), it still feels empty. It's lacking something. I'm going to blame the Berry family for this feeling. Don't get me wrong – this kind of empty isn't bad. In fact, it's kind of reassuring. Normal. It's just an absence. It's like, well, okay. This is a really bad analogy and doesn't really do the feeling justice but here goes: it's like you're outside on a really hot day and someone suddenly dumps a bucketful of ice cold water over your head. It's shocking but after a moment it feels really nice. That's how I feel. It's a shock to the system to be alone again after months of staying with the perpetually loud Berry family – to not hear pots and pans clinking in the kitchen, no deep rumble of Hiram's voice over the phone to a client, no Rachel singing in the shower and her bedroom and my bedroom and the living room – but this feels more like me. More like me how I used to be. It's familiar.

I collapse onto my bed and snuggle into the new sheets I bought this morning. (Question: is there anything on this earth better than the feeling of nice new sheets? Answer: Probably, but I don't care right now because I'm snuggling.) And then, of course, my phone buzzes with a phone call. _And_ it's all the way across my room and sitting, mocking me, atop my as yet unmade 'I-come-in-a-box-and-you-have-to-assemble-me-yourself-which-can-only-result-in-disaster-and-hilarity' bedside table.

Maybe I should just ignore it.

I take a minute to try out my telepathic powers (still ineffective against material objects) and, when that doesn't work, I then roll out of bed and grab it.

"Hello?" I ask cautiously. Damn. I should really learn to use my caller ID.

"Hey." I don't recognise the voice. It's a man, that much is clear, but sounds…cracked? Sad?

"Who is this?" I ask in a preppy voice. I call this my 'ditzy cheerleader'. Anyone calling for me will think they have the wrong number. Whatever reaction the caller has, it will help me try to distinguish their voice, give me some more time.

"Jo?" He sounds confused. "I'm sorry, Jo? Is that you? It's Dave." I smile into my phone.

"Oh hey Dave. What's up?" There is a crackle of static as he sighs.

"Not much. " I imagine him shrugging. "Told my parents that I'm gay."

"Right on." I move into the next room (the living/dining room) and sit cross-legged on my couch.

"Yeah."

"…How'd they take it?

"Well, my mum cried for a little while before disowning me, but my dad was pretty cool about it."

"That's great!" I smile gently on my end – it really is good news to know that it wasn't quite as bad as he feared it might be. We'd talked about it before. What it might be like if he came out to his parents. He was all for imagining the terror and fear of his parents kicking him out and not loving him but it's nice that he still has a place with his –

"I had to leave." Forget what I just said.

"What?"

"Yeah. Mum doesn't want me living there and Dad said I'd be happier if I stayed with a friend until she calms down." I sigh. Glance around my new apartment.

"Do you think the Berry's would be okay with it if I crashed with you?" I cough lightly.

"Well, that's a bit of a pickle. See," Figuring out this dilemma – do I really want him in my house? – requires some serious thought and my fingers drum on my leg and, though I know he can't see or hear it, I feel the embarrassed desire to _not_ do that. I hate the habit. It gives away too much. "I moved out of there this morning." An awkward silence while I consider my next words. _Do I really want him in my house, _the thought recurs and I squish it. He's my best friend and he needs a place to crash. I'm not so much of a bitch that I wouldn't help him. "Do you want to live with me? I suggest you bring a blanket and a mattress or a sleeping bag or something because I'm not sharing my bed with you." He doesn't say anything. "Dave?"

"You'd…be okay with that?" I shrug. "Did you just shrug?" I remember that he can't see me and laugh.

"Yeah."

"Oh. Is that a yes then? I can stay with you for a bit?"

"Yeah."

"Cool." I sit with my phone pressed to me ear for a few more excruciatingly long seconds and then cough lightly.

"I'm going to hang up now."

"Yeah, okay." It's official. We both suck at talking over the phone. We should stick to texting from now on.

**From Dave:** Realised I don't have your address. So, address?

**To Dave: **You're such a sweet talker, charming me into telling you where I live.

**From Dave:** Ha ha. Address? Mum is yelling again.

I roll my eyes.

**To Dave:** Thanks for making me feel guilty for taking the time to joke with you.

I attached the address and sent the message; I actually did feel a little guilty that I was in good humours while he was being verbally abused. Still, he was coming to stay with me so that's a good thing. I don't get a reply so I assume that he's throwing his things in his truck and high-tailing it over here.

Sure enough, there is a hesitant knock on the door after about fifteen minutes and I take a look through the peephole to see Dave looking down at his phone and then up nervously. I pull the door open and lean seductively against the doorframe.

"Well hiya there handsome." I wink. "Wanna come in?" Normally that would get a smile from him. Not today. I finally internalise that humour isn't going to help me in this situation and that I will have to – ew, gross – _talk_ to him about his problems. I sigh and fling the door open. "Come on in." I step out of the way and he shuffles past me, into my apartment. I close the door and double lock it for safety.

He sits on the couch. Keeps his hands stuffed deep into his letterman jacket pocket, which only helps to make him look more gigantic and hunched and uncomfortable than usual. I sit on the other end of the couch – not really much choice in the room yet, couch or floor – and nudge him with my foot.

"You okay?" He shrugs.

After that, we don't talk for a long time. I entertain myself with a game of Tetris but, when the sound and vibration is turned off and I keep my face thoughtful, it looks like I'm texting someone. I'm not sure how long I play for, but I am almost at my high score when he decides to start talking. I exit my game with faint regret but push the feeling aside when I see his face. He is distraught and pretending not to be.

"What did your parents do when you came out?" is the first thing out of his mouth. I consider the question. Let's see – I wasn't beaten. Just ignored.

"I went pretty well," I find myself saying. "They weren't comfortable with it but as long as I didn't mention it, it was all fine. I moved out a few months after I came out but not because of that. Not directly anyway." I shrug. Dave nods.

"My mum started crying. I didn't think, I mean." His voice cracks. "I thought she'd be cool with it because she was so angry when she found out that I'd been picking on Kurt. I didn't think she was…" he trails off, waving his hand in a helpless manner.

"Homophobic?" I supply. He nods miserably and slumps into my couch. His letterman opens to show a superman t-shirt. It's cute.

"Yeah. Really bad." He smiles sadly over at me and I tuck my feet under his leg. I'm not comfortable with hugging him or sitting right next to him, but he's the closest friend I have and he sort of saved my life so I'm not too fussed about a little contact. Plus, my feet are cold. "She kept going on about how it was a sin and I was going to hell and I'd take the whole family down with my sin." He looks ready to start crying – again, I would think, judging from his red-rimmed eyes – so I pat his shoulder gently.

"What about your Dad? He just stood by while she was saying this?" He laughs bitterly, shoulders shaking with what I suspect is more suppression of tears than laughter.

"He wasn't there." I frown.

"I thought you said-"

"Nah. I thought mum would be cool with it so I wanted her on my side before I went to dad and," he shrugs a 'there you go' shrug. I nod and pat his shoulder once more before retracting his hand. "Dad came in when mum was screaming and I guess it was kind of obvious from what she was saying because," Dave smiles and wipes his eyes, "he told mum there was nothing wrong with me. Mum wasn't too happy and she kept yelling and calling me, you know." I frown darkly.

"_What did she say_?" I growl.

"The usual. Faggot, homo, fairy. Whatever." His one shoulder shrug is supposed to make me believe that he's okay, that it didn't hurt, but I don't believe it. I mean, he _has_ been crying.

"Do you want me to hurt her?" I offer. I don't want to _hurt_ her…badly. Just scare her. And make Dave smile. He does, and chuckles, before shaking his head.

"Nah." He relaxes into the couch and is silent for a while. "Nice couch." I grin and pat it. It's soft but not too soft and it's pleasant to the touch. It's quite wide as well as long. "Is this my bed?"

"No! This is my couch." He mumbles an apology. Whoops. I was a little too harsh on him perhaps. I frown. "Do you have sheets?"

"I could only take so much. Mum-" he shakes his head again. "My mother wouldn't really let me take much." I recognise that action. By saying 'my mother' instead of 'Mum' he effectively disowns her as well. Good on him – she doesn't deserve someone as great as Dave. Ew. Sorry. That was sappy. (True though.) I settled further into the couch, pressing my back against the arm of it, and press my toes against his leg. He manages a little smile.

"I'm loaded." I say casually. "Buy whatever you want." I fiddle with my phone, not looking him in the eyes.

"Loaded, huh?" I don't have to look up to know that he's grinning at me. "That must be fun. Rich daddy?" I ignore the flash of _something_ that goes through my chest – pain, maybe? – and give him a little smirk.

"Rich mother. And super rich, very dead, grandparents." He 'ah's and I climb over the back of the couch and wander into the kitchen. "Now that we're over with the sappy shit, go grab your stuff and I'll show you your room." He stands and then, surprised, pauses.

"I have my own room?" I shrug.

"I intended it for Rachel but we're in a bit of a…" I hesitate. "We're having a spat, I guess you could say." He frowns but doesn't say anything. Oh! He expects me to continue. "She didn't like that I moved out."

"I get that you're best friends but isn't that a little clingy?" I shoot him a sideways glance and hold my position – reaching for a mug – for a second before I realise that he really isn't joking. I suppose in the time that I've known him, and all the _super fun stuff_ that's been going on, I never really did get around to telling him.

"Rachel is my sister," I say bluntly. He blinks and then tilts his head to the side, eyes glazing over. I snap my fingers in front of his face. "Dave?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I was just thinking about it."

"And?" I cross my arms.

"You're right. You're totally sisters." I laugh at that. Sorry – can't help it.

"Oh, thanks so much for confirming that Dave. I would have lived in a constant state of confusion if it wasn't for you." He shakes his head.

"You rely a little too much on sarcasm, Jo." My face falls in feigned despondency.

"I know. I have a problem." I pull the second mug down from the shelf and set my kettle on to boil. "Now, go get your shit so I can show you to your room." He salutes me and disappears. I assume to go get his stuff – I don't know. I'm trying to see whether kettles really don't boil if you watch them. (Answer: they actually do. It just seems like they never will. And if you get infuriated with the time they take to boil and then destroy your kettle, no. It won't boil.)

When he reappears, I am finished with the kettle and the coffee and he casts a longing glance to the second mug, filled almost to the brim with the delicious liquid. I sip from my cup and lean against the bench.

"Is that for me?" I look down at the mug and shake my head no.

"Nope. It's also mine." I start off down the corridor towards his bedroom and, when he doesn't immediately follow, I sigh. "Yes, Dave. It's yours. We've been over this – sarcasm, remember?" I hear the thump of heavy bags and frown even though he can't hear me. "Those better not have scratched my floor!" I call. A pause. Slight scuffle – I imagine he is moving the bags to make sure.

"It's all good!" _Boys_. Useless creatures.

"In that case, your room is down here, you idiot. I'm not letting you sleep in the kitchen." I wait in the doorway to his room and grimace when his approach is signalled by the steady louder slurping of the coffee. "Okay, gross. You'll have to work on that. I am _not_ living in the same apartment as someone who sounds like Dr Zoidberg." He smiles a little but I shake my head. I'm serious. "My house, my rules. Got it?" He nods.

"What are the other rules?" I blink.

"Other…rules?"

"Yeah. No drinking like Dr Zoidberg. What are the other rules?" I drum lightly on my thigh.

"No running?" He smirks and, lifting his bag one-handed to about his chest height, he lets it drop to the floor. I growl. "No dropping things on my floor. If that's scratched, Karofsky, I swear…" I leave the threat hanging and he nods, drinking another sip of his coffee – this time like a civilised creature. I fling the door open. It's nothing special: a bed, a desk, and absolutely nothing else. I shrug. "Sorry about it. I know it's not much but you can furnish it any way you like except for painting the walls or, like, drilling holes or something. I can give you some money if your dad didn't give you anything," I offer but he shakes his head. He's staring into the room, speechless. I knew it was ugly and bare but I didn't think it was _that_ bad.

"Thank you, Jo." His voice is choked. Oh swell. I've got me an emotional gay. Huzzah. I shrug one shoulder and push off the door frame.

"Have fun unpacking. Dinner is takeout."

I had hoped to leave it at that but then the doorbell rings and, groaning, I go to answer it. Dave follows, presumably because he, like me, has also finished his coffee. I glare at him when he puts in on the side next to the sink and point into the sink.

"In the sink or in the dishwasher. No in between." He slowly moves it into the sink and I smile. My eyes don't un-narrow though. This will take a little work. He isn't used to living out of home and I'm not used to sharing a space that I'd decided was mine with another person. We'll make it work though.

The doorbell rings again and Dave opens the door. I will have to talk to him about house safety, I realise. That could have been anyone. Could have been. Wasn't. No. Of all the potential visitors – neighbours, the landlord, serial killers, et cetera – it had to be my sister that had to visit. My sister and, I look behind her, a slightly red in the face and carrying several Tupperware containers and what looks to be a casserole dish Quinn Fabray. I look down at my little sister and try to hide the smile that threatens to burst onto my face. She came to visit me. Here. In my new home. I think I have to thank Quinn for talking her down from insanity: it's only been seven-ish hours since our fight.

"Hey, Rach." I start in a calm tone. You couldn't tell, but I'm genuinely happy to see her. Not after she cuts me with a single glance.

"I get it," she says bitterly. "You don't want 'space'," she mocks. "You just want space from me!"

QUINN POV

Rachel is the most useless navigator _ever. _

"Rachel, just tell me what street I'm on!" She pressed her face to the window and I lean forward to try and read some street signs.

"Well, you aren't on Ether Terrace." She pauses. "Or we might be. It looks like someone ran into that post. It might have turned." I sigh and pull the car over. Reaching behind me, I pull out the directory and dump it on Rachel's lap.

"Find where we are, please. It can't be that hard. Leroy said it's a ten minute drive maximum."

"It's been twenty minutes."

"Because you got us lost."

"You're the one driving!"

"You live in this neighbourhood! I thought you knew where you were going!" I hold up a hand to stop her from talking. "No, okay. This is getting us nowhere. Just look at the directory, please?" She huffs and flips the book open, trails down the street names with a long finger. Hums. I smile slightly. I don't think she knows that she hums when she thinks (actually, she is always humming or singing) but I think it's cute. No. Adorable. No, _dammit. _I mean all of this in a friendly kind of way. Like how I admire Santana's badassness. Like that. Not in any other way. A friendly way.

"Okay." I blink and focus on Rachel, who is beaming at me. I smile back. "We _are_ on Ether Terrace and Jo's place is two streets away." I nod and start the car up again. "Thanks for doing this Quinn. I could have just had Daddy drive me." I shrug and glance quickly at her then back to the road.

"It's not a big deal." She reaches over and lightly rests her hand on my shoulder before drawing it back to her. She twists her body a little so she is facing me.

"It's a big deal to me," she says quietly. "Thank you." I shrug again but can't hide that I'm smiling. This is too surreal. Hanging out with Rachel – and it's not awkward or painful. It's actually fun. I've thought about this for so long but I never imagined that it would be this easy. "Oh, left!" I roll my eyes at the late notice but dutifully flick my indicator and slide into the left lane and onto the road. "And left again." I turn onto the road, which, presumably, has Jo's apartment block on it and park behind a big car.

"Okay, which one is hers?" I turn to Rachel but she is staring at the car in front of us. I frown and take a peek. It's big, and red, and _oh._ It has a McKinley football bumper sticker. I've seen that car. I look over at Rachel. So has she. Ever since his dad bought it for him, Karofsky (Dave now, apparently. He joined Glee and everyone is fine with him. Weird.) has been bragging about it.

You know, I honestly believed that when I got Rachel here she would take the casserole and the cookies up to Jo and they would apologise to each other and make up and everything would be fine. Now that Dave is here, though, Rachel has frozen into her seat and her eyes are angry. Hurt. I can't help but think that I'm about to witness a blood bath.

"Quinn," she says softly. I nod. "Would you take these for me?" She hands me the dishes without waiting for me to answer. She jumps out of the car and marches into an apartment building. I, now laden with the Tupperware container tower, take a little longer to get out. By the time I sprint up the stairs (thank you Sue Sylvester for your insane training sessions) Rachel has reached the door of the apartment and is ringing the bell. _Please God_, I think,_ please let Karofsky be visiting someone else_.

He isn't. Jo's apartment door swings open to admit us and shows Dave and, just behind him, Jo. Jo smiles very slightly at Rachel.

"Hey Rach." I wince. This is going to be bad.

"I get it," Rachel spits. "You don't want 'space'," finger quotation marks included, "you just want space from me!" She marches into the room and jabs Jo in the shoulder. Jo bats her hand away before turning to me.

"Hi," she pauses and looks into my eyes for a very brief moment. What is that about? "Quinn. Are those for me?" I nod and hand over the dishes. She walks into the kitchen and Rachel follows. Dave awkwardly closes the door. We stand together as we listen to the sisters fighting.

"Hey," he murmurs. I eye him before nodding. I don't trust him. A little voice reminds me that I said the same about Jo and look how I misjudged her. Remembering that, I turn towards Dave and offer him a little smile.

"Hey." I would have said more but Rachel interrupts by storming back into the room. Jo follows her.

"I said I get it, Jo! You don't have to lie anymore!" Jo groans and rubs her forehead.

"You are _legitimately_ insane, Rachel. He is just crashing here for a little while, okay?" Rachel spins around and, hands on her hips, calls Jo out.

"_No_ it's not _okay_. You move out of my house and into this one so you can live with your new best friend. Well, that's fine. But you could have told me that you didn't want to live with me. That you didn't want space, just space from me." Jo groans again and leans heavily onto the wall.

"Rachel," she sighs. "You do know that you're just repeating yourself, don't you?" Rachel growls. I wince. That probably wasn't the best thing to say in this scenario. "Why won't you just listen to what I'm saying?"

"Because you say the same thing over and over again and I'm sick of it!" Rachel shrieks.

"I'm saying it 'over and over again'," she uses the finger quotation marks as well, "because _it's true_! When have I ever said something that wasn't true? You_ know_ when I'm lying Rachel." Jo moves forward, reaching out towards her little sister but Rachel jerks away. "Oh for Christ's sake. Everything has to be so dramatic with you!" Rachel's face falls and she stares up at Jo. Jo seems to realise that she's said something very wrong and reaches out again with a quiet "Rach" but Rachel pulls away and, ripping open the front door, races down the three flights of stairs and out of the apartment block. Jo slumps and rubs her eyes tiredly.

I hesitate where I am. "Jo," I start. She jerks her head up and stares intently at me. Her shoulders slump and she shakes her head.

"Please, Fabray. Just go and find Rachel. Take her home. Make sure that she is okay." She doesn't spit my last name like she usually does so I assume that she just reverted to calling me 'Fabray' out of exhaustion. The bags under her eyes certainly seem to indicate that. I nod and walk out. I'm about to close the door when Jo pulls it open and hands me a twenty dollar bill, eyes a little wild. "Get her some ice cream – _vegan_ ice cream! She likes the strawberry flavour. And if they're all out of the ice cream then she also likes strawberry frozen yoghurt." I fold the note and nod to her. She hesitates before adding, "Thank you."

I race down the stairs, jumping as many of them as I can in the hope that I can catch up to Rachel. She moves really fast for someone so small, though. "Rachel?" I call, but there's no answer. I run to my car first but she either forgot in her anger that I'd driven us here or she didn't want to see me. I chew on my lower lip for a second before diving into my glove box and pulling out some paper.

_Rachel_, I wrote. _If you come back, text me. I went to look for you._ I tuck it onto the dashboard so it's obvious and fiddle with it for a minute so that she can read it when she comes back and then lock the car.

Now – where the hell would she have gone? I look around for a sign, anything, that will tell me where she's gone and, when nothing miraculously appears, I just turn left from Jo's apartment block and walk quickly. She always turns left when she storms out.

I punch her phone number into my mobile and hold it to my ear.

"Come on, come on," I murmur. The ringing ends and I hold my breath.

"Mm, the number you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please try again later." I swear and glare down at my screen. So – she's either on the phone or it's off. For the next fifteen minutes, I walk down the street, always taking the left hand turn, and attempt to spend all of my father's money on a hugely expensive phone bill calling Rachel's phone.

I am pressing redial for what seems like the ninetieth time when a small voice calls out.

"Quinn?" I spin around in surprise and drop my phone.

"Crap." I duck down and grab the cell, before jogging over to the bush where I heard Rachel's voice coming from. Well, not really the bush. Just the bench behind the bush, which explains why I didn't see her. "Oh, hey Rachel." I grin. "Fancy seeing you here." She smiles weakly at me.

"I overreacted again, didn't I?" I bite my lip and lower myself onto the bench next to her. I don't say anything and she sighs. "You can say yes, Quinn. I'm not going to yell at you." I nod my head.

"Maybe a little," I acknowledge, and nudge her with my elbow. "Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it?" she questions. "I yelled at my sister for the second time today for no reason!" She sighs and slumps into the bench. She fiddles with her fingers and sighs again. "I just don't understand why she had to move out. She just _left_. No warning." I frown.

"Rachel, she's ten minutes away."

"It took us twenty minutes," she points out.

"Because you _got us lost_." I smile. "It really isn't a big deal." She sighs – for the third time.

"You don't understand, Quinn." Now it's my turn to sigh. This is one side of Rachel that, and I would never _ever_ say this to her out aloud, everyone could do without. She can be a teensy, tiny little bit too dramatic sometimes.

"Then help me understand," I urge. "Why are you so upset?"

"She's my sister." She pauses. I wait. "I don't know anything about her," she says quietly. "I know more about you than I know about my own sister." I smile.

"You have known me for a whole lot longer." She nods.

"I overreacted," she repeats.

"Maybe. Maybe you were reacting completely normally but for a scenario that wasn't quite what was happening." She frowns at me. "Like, you were reacting to the fact that you thought she hated you, not the fact that she was moving out."

She nods miserably. "I'm the worst sister in the world," she groans.

There's not much I can say to that. Except… "My sister made me eat wasabi on my ninth birthday. She told me it was candy." Rachel is shocked into laughter and I grin.

"What? Really?" I nod and hold up a hand like a cub scout.

"I swear. Completely true."

"That's terrible." I nod and force a solemn expression.

"See? You aren't the worst sister ever. Frannie was _horrible_." I scoot a little closer to Rachel and nudge her again. "Jo gets you, Rachel. I really don't think you have to worry." Her face falls.

"How do you know?" I purse my lips and then hold up the twenty-dollar note.

"Well, not all sisters would give me this and tell me to buy you a shit load of ice cream and make sure that you're okay." She looks like she's about to cry. "Whoa, Rach, what's wrong?"

"She's so weird. Sometimes, I seriously think that there is something wrong with her." She chuckles – sadly. Is that even possible? I didn't think so until I saw Rachel managing it. "Instead of making you apologise to her when you had her," she pauses, "when she was attacked, she made you apologise to me. And then she helps me out with everything and drives me to school and insists on buying me things and then I yell at her and she wants you to buy me ice cream." She spreads her hands wide. "I don't get her."

I tilt my head to the side. "She's a little…odd." Rachel smiles again. "But all that just tells me that she's trying to be a good sister. Maybe she just doesn't know how? I mean, she's an only child too, right? Maybe she's just trying to be the best older sister ever." Rachel shrugs. "Well, come on. You don't have to do anything about it now. She'll still be here tonight or tomorrow." Rachel frowns curiously at me when I jump up. I hold out my hand to her.

"What are you doing, Quinn?" I smile.

"_We_ are going to have some fun and spend all the money that your sister gave me." I take her hand and haul her onto her feet before dragging her up the street. "I saw this really nice café when I was looking for you. Let's get something to eat. I am _starving_." She grins at me.

"I thought Coach Sylvester had you on a _wicked_ diet." I make a face.

"Yeah. Sand-and-grit shakes and spinach. It's super gross." I frown when she laughs. "What?"

"It's just," she laughs again. "Quinn Fabray, saying things like 'wicked' and 'super gross'." She shakes her head. "It's so…"

"Surreal?" She nods. I smile. "Is that bad?" She shakes her head no quickly. "In that case, come on. I need a coffee."

We end up spending over an hour in the café. It has a book section and makes excellent coffee. Rachel tugs me out of the shop with difficulty but I give in when she tells me that she wants that ice cream. It's at the ice cream store that I absent-mindedly flip open my phone. I frown. Two missed calls and nine texts from an unknown number. I check the first text.

**From Unknown Number:** Quinn, this is Jo. Have you found Rachel?

I get the uneasy feeling that all of the messages will be from Jo. I open the next one and flip through the messages.

**From Unknown Number:** Fabray, please respond.

**From Unknown Number:** Answer me Fabray. Have you found her?

**From Unknown Number: **God dammit Fabray, if you have lost my sister then you will die a slow and painful death.

**From Unknown Number: **That was somewhat a joke. Answer me.

**From Unknown Number:** You had better text me back soon Fabray.

**From Unknown Number:** Just let me know that she is okay.

**From Unknown Number:** QUINN FABRAY IF I HAVE TO COME AND FIND YOU I WILL MAKE SURE THAT YOU NEVER WANT TO LEAVE THE DARK RECESSES OF YOUR ROOM EVER AGAIN. WHY? USE YOUR IMAGINATION – I WILL BE.

**From Unknown Number**: Hi Quinn. This is Dave Karofsky. Jo was getting worked up. Text if you find Rachel. Bye.

I can't help but feel a little guilty that I forgot about Jo. Also, scared. I quickly fix Jo's number into my phone and type out a response.

**To Jo Corcoran:** Rachel is safe. I didn't check my phone – sorry.

**From Jo Corcoran:** Hey. Still Dave. Glad to know that Berry is safe.

I hesitate, fingers over the phone keys, before typing out my reply.

**To Jo Corcoran:** Hey Dave, why are you at Jo's? I don't mean to pry; I just think it might help Rachel calm down if she knows.

The answer is a long time in coming. Rachel has finished selecting her flavour – an epic decision that ends in her choosing strawberry, as Jo had predicted – and we are almost at my car again before I get the reply.

**From Jo Corcoran:** I came out to my parents. Needed somewhere to crash. I have to go now – Jo found out that you texted back.

**To Jo Corcoran:** Okay, thanks. See you at school.

Well _that_ wasn't what I had expected. Then again, I heard from Kurt that Dave had done something unexpected to be accepted into Glee other than his audition. Guess that was it. I frown. Should I?

**To Jo Corcoran:** Hope you are okay Dave x

Rachel nudges me and I jerk my head up. "Everything okay?" I nod and she eyes me for a moment. "Really?"

"_Yes_ Rachel. I was just texting your sister. Here, have a look." I hand her my phone and slide into the drivers seat. She hands it back without looking. I smile. "Really, Rach, you can look."

"I don't want to," she says primly. "Phones are private." I shrug and drop the cell into the cup holder between us.

"I just told her that you were safe but Dave replied because apparently she was freaking out. I forgot to tell her that I found you." Rachel looks ashamed and I smile at her. "Don't worry about it, okay? She knows that you are fine now." I start the car and pull out. "But, just…hypothetically, if your sister threatened me, would she follow through with that threat?" Rachel shrugs.

"Probably." I nod weakly. Wonderful. I can think of plenty of reasons for my not wanting to leave the 'dark recesses' of my room. All of them are painful. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason." I bite my lip. "But if you never see me again, it's probably because she has brutally maimed me and left me in my room." I shrug. "No big deal." Hysterical laughter here. "Oh!" I turn to smile at her. "And, just so you know, Karofsky was at Jo's because he needed somewhere to stay. He came out to his parents. I assume they were less than accepting." Her eyes widen and her mouth makes a little 'o'. She doesn't say anything so I just focus on driving and let her consider that.

The drive to Rachel's house is short – now that I know the way there and Rachel isn't failing at navigation – and I stop outside her house less than ten minutes later. "Well…" I turn the engine off and smile at her. "Here you are."

"Here I am." She makes no move to get out. "I had a lot of fun this afternoon Quinn." She smiles. "Other than the fight with Jo." I nod.

"Yeah, me too." She glances at her lap and then, cautiously, back to me.

"Quinn?" I nod. "Do you, can we," she blushes. "Can I hug you?" I laugh and hold my arms out. She beams and wraps her arms around my waist and I hug her back. She rests her chin on my shoulder. "Do you think we can do this again?" I pull back a little.

"Do what? Hug? Because, yes, we can hug again."

"No." She smiles. "Go out. Have lunch. Hang out together. It was really fun." I nod easily.

"Of course." We rest there for a minute before I pull back finally. _Her hair smells really nice_. Which, I remind myself, I recognise because I want to know what her brand of shampoo is and for no other reason. "I, um, I have homework." She jerks back and is out of my car before I can say another word. I hop out too and walk her to her door. "I'll see you Tuesday?" I ask as we reach the door and she nods. "Okay. Well, um, bye."

And then I run. Really, really fast because it was getting dark and she looked really beautiful – lovely – attractive – nice – pretty _oh my god_ she just looks like Rachel Berry always looks! And she looked like that and she was peering up at me and we were standing on her doorstep and it was the same as every other teenage movie I've ever seen and that was the moment where the guy is supposed to kiss the girl and _oh my god what am I thinking?_ I grip the steering wheel hard and shakily pull out of her drive. I endeavour to not think anything Rachel Berry related again.

Santana is waiting for me when I get back to her place.

"Hey there hot stuff," she calls out from the couch. She also leers at me. "Walk of shame?" I frown.

"I'm fairly sure that the walk of shame is done in the morning."

"Not if it's from Berry's house. Then it is _always_ a walk of shame." She cackles and I whack her on the shoulder. "Fuck, Q! That hurt!"

"Whoops." I bare my teeth in a pseudo-smile and she backs away a little. "So, what do you want?"

"Jo invited us to her new apartment next Saturday. She wants to hold the movie night. Is that okay?" She looks like she is genuinely asking me so I nod. "Good, because I've already said yes." She smirks when I frown and jumps up from the couch. "Okay, bye. Brittany is coming over in an hour and I want to-" she cuts herself off, blushing. Now it's _my_ turn to grin.

"What, San? You want to look pretty? Make yourself look nice for your girl?" She huffs and runs up the stairs. I follow her. "Aww, Sanny has a date. Be good!" I call out when her door slams. I start laughing and then stop when she flings the door open again and corners me.

"Quinn, if you don't stop right now I swear that you will regret it." Her voice is low and deep. I would call it seductive but, well, seductive is also angry in Santana's mind. I pretend to be unaffected and smirk. Cross my arms.

"Oh yeah? What would you do?" Bad move, Fabray. Santana takes that kind of talk as a challenge. She leans in close and laughs. Closer still. I freeze. She grips my neck.

"Oh, Fabray, do you really want to do this?" she breathes into my ear. My throat closes up. "I will make your life a living hell. Trust me on that." Her nails scrape my neck and she chuckles again before spinning around and into her room. I can't move.

"Crap." That little game of Santana's made a few things clear to me. I like absolutely _none_ of them. The scratches on my neck are still prickling. I wonder if Santana coats her nails with some kind of venom…

**Okay my lovelies. There you go. I hope you liked it and I would love some reviews. (Yay! Reviews!) Much love. Happy reading, readers :)**


	30. Chapter 30

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Thirty**

**Glee isn't mine. **

**Please enjoy. Also, you guys are the best. I love you all so much :)**

JO POV

I close the door after Quinn and groan. Then, I hit my head against the door a few times. Dave pulls me away from the door after a little while (I'm not done with abusing my skull but I'm a little dizzy – thanks concussion – and I don't feel up to fighting) and makes me sit on the couch. I scowl at the coffee table. He sits down next to me. I scowl at the couch. Then I stop scowling. It's a nice couch. It doesn't deserve my abuse.

"I'm sorry," he says after a few minutes. I stop scowling so that I can frown in confusion at my new gay.

"What?" He refuses to look at me, instead staring intently down at his hands.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For making Rachel upset with you." He scratches his neck slowly and shrugs.

"Why on earth would that be _your_ fault?" I laugh, and then resume scowling at the coffee table. "She's the stupid little midget who can't understand that some things _aren't_ about her." I pause and sigh. Dave smiles and pokes my leg with one of his thick fingers. I hit his hand away. He pokes me again.

"You're regretting saying that about her, aren't you?" My scowl returns, deepens, and I cross my arms.

"No."

"Really? Not even a little bit?"

"Not even a little bit." He gives me a look that says 'I know that you're lying but I'm living in your house now so I won't point it out because I'm a little bit afraid that you will kick me out'. In the face of that look, I relent. "Okay, maybe a little." He smiles.

"And?"

"And she isn't a stupid little midget. Sorry Rachel!" I say mulishly out into the universe. Dave nods. We scowl at the coffee table together.

"Are you sure that it's not my fault that she yelled at you and ran away?" He murmurs and I sigh.

"Maybe a little bit." He frowns sadly and I pat his knee. "Hey, don't worry about it. She would have been upset no matter who was living with me."

"Yeah but, it was me."

"And that isn't your fault." He frowns.

"It isn't?"

"Nope. It's your mother's. And a little bit your dad's. If they hadn't kicked you out then you wouldn't have to live with me. Now, try not to dwell on that as I text Quinn to find out whether she has found Rachel." Dave dutifully stares resolutely at the coffee table – the poor thing is getting the full weight of a broad spectrum of emotions (though admittedly, mostly anger, heartache, and sadness)– and tries not to think about the fact that his parents kicked him out. It probably wasn't the most tactful of diversions. I mean, it will make him stop feeling guilty about Rachel being upset with me because of him but now he will be thinking about the fact that his mother potentially hates him because of exactly who he is. I just can't win! I'm not good at this 'being supportive' thing.

**To Quinn Fabray:** Quinn, this is Jo. Have you found Rachel?

I stare at my cell phone for a minute until I realise that she isn't going to text me back immediately.

"Do you want dinner?" Dave perks up at my suggestion. Typical teenage boy.

"Hell yes." I nod and climb over the back of the couch. "Is it still takeout or are we going to eat the casserole your dad made Rachel bring over?" I freeze in the process of pulling out the casserole from the fridge and he beams and takes it from me. He doles out massive portions into two bowls and has them in the microwave before he realises that I haven't moved. "Jo?"

I flinch. "What? What are you talking about, Dave? Leroy isn't my dad."

He frowns. "Yeah, but, well Rachel is your sister and he is Rachel's dad and if you're her sister then…he's your dad too? You have been living together for like, three months."

"Two. Two months." I frown. "And he isn't my dad. He's great, _they_ are great, but…they're not my dad." Dave's frown disappears and he makes an 'I am so stupid' face.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Yeah, I totally forgot that you have your own dad." The microwave beeps and he turns, pulls the bowls out, and scoops the casserole into his mouth as fast as humanly possible. I doubt if he is breathing. "Are your parents okay with you living with the Berrys? Cause that's kind of weird, don't you think?" Except it comes out more like: 'ahw rwar wawwent ophay wif oo iffig wif r ewwryph?' because his mouth is full of meat. I can translate, but only because I am so awesome.

"Yeah they're fine with it." _They don't care. _"My mother bugs me for news about everything daily,"_ but not about me_, "but my father probably just gets the information from her."_ Because I would never in my right mind ever tell him anything. Ever. _I'm feeling fidgety and not in the mood to answer any more of his questions so I send off a second text.

**To Quinn Fabray:** Fabray, please respond.

I'm hoping that the terseness of the message will admirably bring across the fact that I want to her to goddamn respond already. She doesn't.

Three minutes later, a third text: **To Quinn Fabray:** Answer me Fabray. Have you found her?

After that, Dave plays hide-and-go-seek with my phone. That, or I left it in the couch seat. Whatever. Ten minutes later I send a fourth message. **To Quinn Fabray:** God dammit Fabray, if you have lost my sister then you will die a slow and painful death.

The next five messages are all sent within two or three minutes of each other. I am in the midst of my tenth text – a masterpiece, if I may add, and the perfect balance of mental warfare and blatant threat – when Dave takes my phone away and sends me to my room. I wouldn't normally listen to him but he is huge and sort of throws me over his shoulder like the Neanderthal he is and dumps me on my bed. He then refuses to let me leave, telling me that I'm probably scaring Quinn, and holds the door closed with what I can only assume to be contemptible ease. What? I'm tired and he is two hundred pounds of footballing muscle.

There is a tapping on my bedroom door after a while and Dave, his voice muffled, inquires as to my health. "Hey Jo. You okay?"

"Just peachy, Dave. Why?"

"And you're calm now?" I look around at my room – pillows thrown every where, clothes here and there, but all in all nothing really broken – and sigh.

"I'm calm."

"Good. Quinn texted back." I stand away from the door, give a little tug, and smile when Dave swears. Yeah – he didn't expect me to remove the hinges. I step over the door and hold my hand out for the phone. It buzzes in his pocket and I leap for it but he sprints away from me and, when I try and tackle him, he dodges me. He manages to text while fending me off. I think it's a skill that teens learn nowadays. Once he finishes, he hands the phone back to me and I immediately check the message Quinn sent back.

**From Quinn Fabray:** Rachel is safe. I didn't check my phone – sorry.

"She didn't check her phone?" I growl and Dave shrugs. "That's bullshit. Girls are born with phones in their hands these days. What a bitch."

"Maybe it was because you were threatening her?" He offers with a smile. The smile disappears when I turn my glare on him. Before I can say anything – such as, and this is just pulled out of nowhere, 'yeah? And you're stupid' (I know, not my best work) – my phone buzzes again.

**From Quinn Fabray: **Hey Dave, why are you at Jo's? I don't mean to pry; I just think it might help Rachel calm down if she knows.

I throw my phone back to Dave and slump onto my couch.

"What? Why, but, you," he gapes at me. "You _removed your bedroom door_ to get your phone back. Why did you give it back?" I shrug, roll my eyes.

"The message is for you." He looks down at the screen.

"Oh. Okay." He messages back and worries at his lip for a few minutes. I can only assume that he told her that he came out to his parents or something of the like and then, when the phone buzzes, he smiles. And then it buzzes again a few seconds later and he beams, handing the phone back to me. It's just a small little message but it's nice. Really nice, considering that it is coming from Quinn Fabray, Queen Bitch.

**From Quinn Fabray:** Hope you are okay Dave x

"That's nice of her." I murmur. He nods and slumps onto the couch next to me. "So, what do you want to do now?" He looks around.

"Do you have a television?" I shake my head. "Seriously?" I nod slowly. "Okay, we are going to buy a T.V. You're great and all and I know you like to read a _lot_ but I'm not cool with that. I need a T.V." I sigh, glance over at my packed bookshelves, and back to Dave's well…not _quite_ pouting but as close to pouting as the tough football man could make.

"_Fine_! Let's get you a T.V." He jumps up and fist pumps the air – then I deal the killer blow. I grab my wallet and smile sweetly. "And you will be doing the washing up for two weeks after every meal." Cue my slamming the door behind me to punctuate the awesomeness that is me. I grin when he opens the door with slumped shoulders and ignore his attempts to change my mind. It ends up being that I throw in some new-fangled fancy television cable thingy and he does the dishwashing _and_ the laundry for two weeks. I'm down with that.

"Do you know how to set this bad boy up?" Our new television rests on what used to be our coffee table and Dave is leaning against it proudly. Or super tiredly – I'm not sure. I _do_ know that we almost broke the elevator with how heavy it was.

"There is a booklet with instructions." He waves his hand in the direction of it and I grab the booklet from the box, flicking through it.

"Oh. Well, this seems easy enough." And cue the gaping in surprise at my awesomeness as I proceed to set up the television. Less than an hour later we have a fully functioning television and Dave is suitably impressed. (Sometimes I like to show off.) "Now, while you enjoy this brainless mush stuff, I will go to sleep. _Don't_ wake me up."

And that is how I spent my Friday night. Tucked in my new bed with a pile of books to read, my new roommate watching television quietly in the next room, and utterly sleepless. Completely. Completely and utterly sleepless.

Saturday morning sees me sitting cross-legged on my kitchen counter, eating a bowl of Cocoa Pops. I love me some Cocoa Pops. Dave rumbles out of his room, bleary-eyed and slumped, and pulls open the fridge. He makes a bowl of cereal. I silently pass him the box and then the milk. He accepts it with eyes half-closed, accepting that I am giving him milk and not some form of poison, which is nice of him. I don't think he really realises that I'm here. It's kind of like sleepwalking – a tired, semi-comatose state of non-awareness. I've lived with enough boys to know that most of them are like this in the mornings. (What? You didn't think I've _always_ lived on my own, did you? Nah, I've roomed with plenty of gays. New York is kind of expensive. Then came my eighteenth and I never lived with anyone else ever again – until the Berry's.)

"Thanks," he grunts. My mistake. Maybe he does know that I'm here. I stare into my deliciously chocolate-y milky bowl of goodness and let the spoon clink annoyingly on the sides for a few minutes. Dave glares slowly up from his bowl and shakes his head. "Dude. That is so annoying."

"Dude," I chastise him, "I'm not a dude."

He nods, shrugs, blinks. "Sorry."

"I have tutoring in twenty minutes. I'll be back at," I look at the clock, "around eleven." I clink my spoon again and drop my bowl into the sink. "Don't forget to wash up." I jump off the counter, only to have the home phone go off. I stride over to the phone and rip it away and up to my ear.

"Hello?" Yeah, so I sound a little impatient. Sue me. (Don't bother – you can't sue me for the way I sound. It's stupid.)

"Jo?" I relax and feel bad about the way I answered the phone.

"Oh, hey Hiram."

"You okay, sweetie?" I nod, remember that he can't see me, and use my words.

"Yeah I'm fine." Dave pops up behind me.

"She didn't sleep well last night." He says it loud enough for Hiram to overhear. I glare at him.

"How the hell do you know that?" He pauses, caught, mouth full of cereal and shrugs.

"I dunno. Your light was on at like, um, three." He shrugs again. Shovels some more cereal into his mouth. A watery trail of milk drips down his chin and he swipes it off with a sleeved arm. He shrugs, unconcerned by my glaring. "I wanted some water and I saw you were still awake. You _did_ take your door off, remember?" Hiram calls me back to the phone with a not-so-subtle cough on his end of the phone line, preventing me from killing Dave.

"Anyway, what's up Hiram?"

"Well, I don't know if you knew but Finn Hudson had a meeting with the prosecution yesterday afternoon." I blink. I hadn't known that. "They wanted to see if there was anything they could charge him with."

"Hell yeah there was. _Assault_, for one." Hiram sighs.

"I know."

"Hiram," I say warningly. "Tell me that they charged him." He doesn't say anything. "Dammit Hiram _tell me they charged him_. Puckerman was unconscious. _I_ was unconscious. Rachel fainted! Tell me they charged him!"

"They…did." I blow out a huff of air in relief.

"That wasn't too hard, was it?" I chuckle. "Why did you make me so worried?"

"Jo," he starts. I have the urge to whack my head on the wall again. Or onto something sharper. "Jo, he isn't going to go to jail."

"It was a criminal offence, Hiram. He has to go to jail. Doesn't he?"

"No. It doesn't always work out like that. It was his first offence and someone spoke on his behalf." I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and can very faintly hear the phone creaking in my hand. I hold the phone out to Dave and he takes it after a second and holds it to his ear.

"Hello, Mr Berry? This is Dave." I hear him say. That's when I leave. I open my front door and close it behind me gently. I descend the stairs and hop into my car. I wrap my fingers around my steering wheel and then, focusing on the car symbol embossed on the centre of the wheel, I force everything that I am feeling deep, deep down into the dark recesses of my already twisted and bitter soul (I'm dramatic, I know. Genetics.) where, hopefully, I won't have to deal with it for a couple of years or until it erupts in hurtful ways and I am forced to go see a gifted therapist.

I went to my tutoring session and, to be honest, I remember nothing of it. I do know that the boy I was tutoring, Brian, _sucks_ at grammar. Even in my semi-functional state I am better than him.

When I go home – to my place, not to the Berry's, though I almost forget this fact – Dave is waiting for me and looking far more awake than he did before. I hand him the bear claw that I picked up on the way and he devours it without a second thought.

"Just so you know, that was laced with a sleeping agent." He gulps and looks down at the bear claw and I gape at him. "Seriously? You believed me?" I shake my head. "That's just unbelievable. Apparently he thinks I'm some kind of possibly homicidal, drug using and abusing maniac that has it out for him. Oh no, that's fine," I'm talking to myself at this point while I'm shuffling around in my room, "that's fine. It's not like I gave him a place to stay or whatever. No, I'm someone that is going to drug him using a _bear claw_." I throw a book onto my desk where it makes a satisfying _clunk._ "Whatever."

"I was kidding!" He protests mildly from my bedroom door and I shrug.

"Whatever. The damage is done." I fling myself dramatically onto my bed and Dave leans against the frame of my room. I peer at him from the corner of my eye and nod toward the door. "I see that you still haven't reattached my door to its hinges."

"You're the one that pulled it off." I narrow my eyes at him. "But I'll do that tonight," he backtracks hurriedly. I nod. Better. "So, you left before Mr Berry could finish telling you about Hudson." I glower at my roof. I don't particularly want to be reminded of the way our legal system has screwed me over this time.

"So what? So I could hear him tell me that Hudson got off scot-free and he's allowed to bully whomever he wants to just because I'm gay and Puckerman is a juvenile delinquent? No thank you."

"Actually, he got off scot-free because Mr Schue spoke up for him and told the prosecution that he was a good guy and this was just a big misunderstanding." I remain lying on my bed and staring up at the ceiling. "Jo?"

"Mr Schuester spoke up for him?" I ask quietly.

"Yeah."

"Did he get in trouble at all?" I ask after a short pause.

"Mr Berry said," he looks down at a slip of paper in his hand. "He is suspended for two months, he isn't allowed to be in Glee or on the football team, he has to go to an anger management course, it will be on his permanent record, and he has to pay the medical bills for you, Puckerman, and Rachel." I nod and curl up on my side, away from him. "Jo? You okay?"

"Just…" I sigh. "Just go away please." I don't hear anything for a long moment and then I hear his footsteps retreating, heading down the hall to his bedroom. Only then do I curl tighter and stare blankly at the wall. I don't move, even when the removalists come and drop off the boxes of my things – mostly books, I will admit – and Dave hovers outside my room asking me to eat lunch. I can't move. I'm too tired. It's not tired like I've exercised for too long or been awake for too long. This is bone-deep weariness. I sink deep, deep down into myself, inhale slowly, exhale slowly, and allow the visions pressing on my temples to assault me.

_a vase, thrown, shattering –_

_yelling, shouting, blood drips from my chin, my eyes are swollen shut – _

_the door closing. The door closing. The door closing. The door closing. The door – _

_my hands, reaching out, clawing at the wood, the frame, beating bloody against the splintered wood – _

_a large room full of judgemental strangers – _

_his eyes, dark and cool. – _

_My own voice. Shaking. Loud – too loud. –_

For some reason, my subconscious leaps onto this memory, this vision, and tugs it up to play in exquisite detail before my eyes.

"_Don't you _dare_ tell me that you did everything you could! Don't you dare." My finger, pointing at her, shakes and I can't do anything to stop it._

"_Josie." Her voice is low and soothing. "Josie, I _did_ try. Sometimes, things don't turn out like we want them to. And I am sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I tried." I clench my hands into tight fists and drop back onto the couch. She kneels in front of me, rests her hands on my shoulders. I flinch away, naturally, and she sighs. "I am sorry, Josie."_

"_I know." My eyes, I know, are dark and dangerous. Not towards her. If anyone was my hero, it was Angelica. She was, as her name suggested, an angel. But even angels are powerless against the devil. Him, with his thin lips a slash across his face. Him, with the fingers that grab and burn. Him, with the voice that speaks love and the eyes that hold nothing but hate. "I know that I'm going to kill him." The words taste like hope – light and space and everything I want in the world – and she shakes me. Hard._

"_Don't you dare say that. Don't you dare." Her eyes are slanted. Sad. Sometimes it is difficult for me to read their emotions, other people's emotions, because I've never had the chance to really understand someone other than Him. My world is a maelstrom of confusion in which he is the centre. _

"_I want to," I say weakly. She clutches me to her chest. _

"_I know you do." Presses a fleeting kiss to my forehead. "But it's wrong. You know that, don't you?" She looks and sounds genuinely scared that I don't realise that it's wrong. But I do. It's wrong to hurt people. It was wrong to hurt me._

"_It was wrong to hurt me." My words echo my thoughts. "But he got away with it. Why can't I hurt him?" She strokes my hair. It falls to just below my shoulders, dark and thick and tangled. She sighs. _

"_We didn't have enough proof." Tears prickle at the back of my eyes. I try to imagine them as tears of fury but I know that it's pain. I can't fool myself. _

"_Not enough proof?" My voice cracks. "I am walking proof." She reaches out again, to soothe, to stroke, and I flinch back. Don't trust her. "Every inch of me is pain. I am scarred from head to toe and you didn't have enough _proof_? What the fuck went wrong?" It was the first time I'd sworn. Felt the bite of the 'f' on my lips, held the 'u' in my mouth, expelled the growl of the 'ck' from my throat. Saw her flinch. _

"_Josie…" she tried. I turned away. Locked eyes with him. He smiles at me and holds up seven fingers. Seven fingers. Seven years. Seven years until he gets out. Seven years until he comes back. A hand comes down on my shoulder and I shrug it off. _

"_Take me to Shelby," I say tonelessly. _

"_Josie,"_

"_Take me to Shelby," I repeat, slightly louder as if she hadn't heard me the first time._

"Jo?" There is a light tap on my bedroom door frame (the door still not attached) and I grunt. "Rachel is here." I fling myself out of my bed and grab Dave by the front of his shirt.

"What? Where? Why?" It's slightly disorienting to go from drowsy sleep flashbacks to being wide awake but I manage it with aplomb, I believe. I do know that my eyes are abnormally wide at the moment and that my hands are shaking.

"She's at the door." I glance at my watch and then at the weak sunlight streaming in through the window.

"It's Sunday?" He nods. "Sunday morning?" He nods again. I blink. A day. I missed almost a whole day. I missed a whole day on feeling sorry for myself. "Well, what are we waiting for?" I step out into the living room and catch myself before I ram into my armchair. My armchair from the Berry household. "The movers came?" Dave nods.

"I didn't know where you wanted stuff so I just made it up. Is it okay?" I take a look around. The armchair has to be in my room, and the boxes of books are actually just piled in the corner, but we can sort it all out later.

"Yeah, it's fine." I practically sprint to the front door and, running both hands through my hair to fix the major bed head I know I have, throw the door open. "Rachel."

She's here. Standing right in front of me. I thought I had ruined it yesterday but here she is. And…Quinn. Quinn who is now a permanent fixture in Rachel's life, it seems. Huzzah. (My mind tells me she could do worse – Finn, for example.)

"Hello Jo." She fidgets with the sleeves of her sweater (no, she hasn't reverted to her cute animal sweaters. I burnt them, remember? No, this is a nice sweater) and her eyes dart behind me. "Hello Dave. How are you?"

"Yeah, good," I hear his gruff voice answer. I stand to the side.

"Would you like to come in Rach?" I pause and then smile. "Quinn?" I'm fairly sure she is the one that got Rachel back here. True, a full day but back nonetheless.

"Actually," Rachel drops her eyes and stares at the ground. "I just came by to ask you something." I fold my arms across my chest. I bolster my courage by surreptitiously drumming my fingers behind my arm – the familiar beat soothes me. I can do this.

"Sure. Ask away." She bites her lip.

"When was your birthday?" She blurts out. "And how old are you?" I open my mouth to answer but she isn't done. "What did you get for your birthday last year? What do you want this time? What was the best day of your life? Who is your favourite parent? Do you have or have you had any pets? What is your favourite non-domesticated animal? What is your favourite colour? What-" Quinn cuts her off with a hand on the shoulder and I gape at my sister. She is flustered like I've never seen; she's passionate, yes, but also strangely desperate.

"Maybe you should breathe," Quinn murmurs. Rachel obediently sucks in a breath and gives me a weak smile.

"Rachel, what…" I don't really know what to say. That was a whole lot of questions. "Where did that come from?"

Again, the two girls share a look. "I…" Rachel shakes her head. She fidgets again, peers longingly into my living room. "Can I come in?" I back away instantly and they enter. Quinn leaves the living room to us, to me and Rachel, and drags Dave into the kitchen, presumably to give us space to talk. "I overreacted a little bit yesterday." She refuses to look at me. "Jo, you do, you do _love_ me, don't you?" Her voice is very tiny. I react instantly. I laugh.

"Of course I do." She doesn't look very convinced so I cross the space between us in two easy strides and rest my hands on her shoulders. "Rachel," I smile at her, "you're my sister. Plus, with how awesome you are, I don't think it is possible to not love you." She beams at me when I wink at her.

Okay, okay, it's not like me to be so loud or outgoing – at least, it didn't use to be. With Rachel you have to be loud though if you want to be heard. And I have things to say, so with Rachel I am loud.

"Jo?" She pulls my hands away from her and takes a step backwards. She takes a deep breath. "I would like for us to get to know each other." I frown. "Do you remember that night in the bathroom when I told you that I thought it would be good for us to be friends first and sisters later?" I nod. "That didn't happen." I reach a hand out to her but she ducks behind the armchair, keeping distance between us.

"Rach," I try to argue but she holds up a hand.

"I'm serious, Jo. I wanted us to be those sisters that know everything about each other and who can be there for each other but time and time again you've proven that you will be there for me but I am not allowed to be there for you. You proved that when Quinn slapped you and then when you were attacked and then when you moved out and you didn't tell anyone that you were even thinking about it. I tell you so much and I know _nothing_ about you." She takes a deep breath. "I don't like it."

"Come on Rach," I say but she shakes her head.

"No, Jo, please. The reason I overreacted yesterday was because I was afraid. I know nothing about you and I don't know why you act the way you do. The things I said when I was angry with you were true. They weren't nice but they were true. You don't sleep, you lie, you fight, and you don't trust people." She adds, after a moment, in a quieter voice, "you don't trust _me_." Her eyes are shimmering with tears and when she peers up at me I feel my walls frantically trying to defend me. She's going to end up winning though, I can just feel it.

"I do trust you, Rach," I murmur. She walks around the chair and grabs my hands with both of hers.

"Then _talk _to me." I frown at her lightly, not angry, just thinking, and nod very slightly.

"My birthday was the fourth of September and I am twenty-one years old. Last year I was given a bunch of books and money." Rachel's jaw falls open when she realises that I'm answering her questions. "I didn't really want anything for my birthday this year. It was a really great birthday. Do you remember when you took me out paintballing with Puckerman?" She nods. "That was my birthday and it was honestly one of the best birthdays I have ever had." She beams at me but those tears start pouring out. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and instead hug her to me. "The best day of my life was when I met you and you asked me whether we were sisters and you were so excited." I laugh a little, remembering her excited expression. "I hadn't dreamt that you would know who I was and I was sure that you wouldn't want me." I ignore her gasp of shock and muted disagreement and ruffle her hair.

"Jo!" She scowls and fixes her hair and I take the moment she is looking away to fix my expression, to pretend that opening up like this isn't hard for me.

"My mother is my favourite parent. I've never had a pet but I like cats. My favourite non-domesticated animals are tigers and my favourite colour is purple. Or black," I add, looking down at my currently all black wardrobe. I shrug. "Happy?"

She nods slowly, eyes wide with all the knowledge she just gathered, and then shakes her head rapidly no.

"No?" I frown. "Why not?"

"Because, although I appreciate your answering my questions, I wanted to, that is." Quinn appears in the kitchen doorway and this time I do roll my eyes. Those kiddies have been eavesdropping this whole time. I knew they would be but still – come on! She smiles encouragingly at Rachel, nods. Rachel straightens her back and nods decisively, smiles up at me.

"I would like for us to hang out together as friends. Do things that we like to do. Share with one another." My frown deepens.

"Why?"

"To get to know each other."

Okay, seriously, is it so hard to understand that I might not want my innocent little sister to be corrupted by me? That I don't _want_ anyone to get to know me? I'm trying really hard to be a new person and not have to think at all about who I used to be – think about who I was in the moment when I beat up Dave and then multiply that by about a hundred – but here is my little sister desperate to know me. This sucks.

"Look, Rach,"

"Please Jo?" She turns those pleading eyes on me and I tear my eyes away, only to see Quinn looking at me with contemplating eyes. _She_ knows about me. About my back. I give her a look and she hesitates before nodding me to Rachel. _Do it_, she seems to be saying. _It's Rachel_.

"Fine!" I throw my hands in the air. "We'll go on sister dates." I scowl at her jokingly and waggle my finger. "But I am _not_ serenading you, got it?" She laughs and flings her arms around my middle. It takes me a moment but I let my arms drop around her shoulders and hug her tightly. I rest my cheek on the top of her head.

"You're the best sister ever," she sighs and I nod against her head.

"It's true. I am."

And that is how I find myself, after a busy Monday at school, driving Rachel to the music store in the Lima Mall. I have long since rethought these 'sister dates' and this 'getting to know each other' crap and am fully prepared to buy out the mall so long as she doesn't ask me any questions.

"You know, I met my second boyfriend Jesse St James here," she muses as we peruse the shelfs for sheet music that she likes. I raise my brows.

"How did that turn out?" She smiles sadly.

"He turned out to be dating me so that he could dump me a few weeks before Regionals and break my heart and put New Directions into a funk. He also had his team vandalise our choir room and then his team pelted me with eggs." She says nonchalantly, letting her fingers skim the Broadway music.

"So…not very well?" She smiles.

"Not very well." There is a lull in conversation. "What about you?"

"Well, I never dated this St James kid,"_ but I am planning on how to kill him. Or destroy his career…_ Rachel laughs.

"No, what about your relationships. What were your girlfriends like?" I pretend to be engrossed in some sheet music but Rachel pulls the book down and smiles up at me. "Jo?"

"I …" let the rest of my sentence trail off into gibberish and she frowns, crossed her arms. The frown begins its transition from frown to glare and I huff. "Fine! I've never had a girlfriend, okay?"

Rachel gapes at me. "Never?"

"No." End of discussion. Rachel doesn't seem to be aware, however, that this was the end of the discussion and continues to pester me, following me.

"Why not? Why not? Why not?"

"Because."

"No, but _really_ Jo. Why haven't you had a girlfriend?" I frown at her over the bookcases of music.

"Because I haven't. I wasn't looking and no one asked." I shrug. "It's not really a big deal." It is, apparently, to her, because she squeals and wraps her arms around me and then, abruptly, releases me and bounces on her feet. "Why are you so excited?" She laughs.

"Are you kidding me? All this time I thought that you knew everything and had done everything but I've had _three_ boyfriends and you haven't had a girlfriend!" She actually points at me.

"Three?" I scowl. "Who? This Jesse kid and Finn, I know about. Who was the third?"

"Oh, it was Noah. I thought you knew that." My scowl deepens. She had a romantic liaison with Noah Puckerman? The same Noah Puckerman that she is always hanging all over and is a self-admitted sex shark? I can't help but shake my head. I would have thought her dads would have raised her better than that. "Don't you shake your head at me, Jo!" She claps. "Finally! Something I can use against you." Suddenly her joy seems infinitely crueler.

"Use…against me?"

"Of course. Sister must always have blackmail to use against one another. This way, if you do something that I am not happy about, I can threaten you."

"That isn't blackmail."

"Of course it is." She crosses her arms across her chest, daring me to contradict her.

"No, it isn't. In order for it to be blackmail, I would have to feel ashamed about it or want to keep it a secret. I'm not ashamed about the fact that I haven't had a girlfriend. I'm totally badass," _Oh god, I've been hanging out with Puckerman too much_, "I'm super intelligent, and I'm one hot piece of ass. Girls are falling over themselves to get up on this." I smile when she laughs good-naturedly. "I'm not _upset_ or _ashamed_," I chide her. "I'm just not ready."

She pouts. "Then can you give me something that I can use as emotional blackmail?" I pat her on the head and turn, going back to delving in the shelves.

"No can do, kiddo. You have to find out that stuff for yourself."

The afternoon is spent just like that – me dodging questions that have the potential to dig too deep into my past, Rachel satisfied with answers that are shallow and fun. It seems that she really is happy with answers to questions about my favourite colour and favourite food and favourite flavour of smoothie. Weird…

Tuesday is Quinn and Rachel's movie night so I skip that in favour of hanging with Dave and helping him with his English assignment. That, and I make meat. _Meat_. Something I haven't really had since I first arrived at the entirely vegan Berry household. Dave appreciates my attempts at burritos. They don't look great but they taste pretty amazing.

Wednesday is my day to pick the activity. I choose to take her to the bookstore, after my tutoring session, and we are there late into the night. Not really talking, which is just what I had planned, but fully engrossed in the books there. Who knew that Lima had such a great second-hand bookstore?

On Thursday I am fully booked until late – around eight at night – tutoring all the football and hockey boys so Rachel reluctantly lets me go home instead of baking with her. Very reluctantly. I'm glad she wants to spend time with me but I literally have to get on my knees and beg her to let me go home and sleep. Leroy and Hiram say hi.

Friday, I manage to snag tickets to the community theatre showing of Mary Poppins. It sucks.

Saturday, well…Saturday is an all day event. The rather more insane side of my consciousness for some_ stupid _reason agreed to host the movie night and bring together Santana, Brittany, Rachel and Quinn in the same room for an extended period of time. Dave agrees to stay in his room so long as we don't watch any amazing movies in which case he reserves the right to join us. The girls arrive – Rachel and Quinn first, spot on at ten am like we agreed, Santana and Brittany show up a half hour after that – and the movie day proceeds.

Why do I have the feeling that this is a bad idea? Well, let me count the reasons:

One, Santana and Brittany are looking between Rachel and Quinn with evil looks. Two, Brittany keeps crooning love songs under her breath. Three, Santana is hiding something in her bag (I know that because she won't let me take it from her) and four, they won't meet my eyes.

Today is going to be interesting, that is for sure.

**So sorry it's so late guys – exams, assignments, et cetera – and that, well, it isn't exactly wonderful. I needed to get through a whole lot of stuff/information/action and I didn't really want to drag it out into boringness so I apologise for the quick pace (talking about four days in 197 words, anyone? That's pretty good.) and I hope that you liked it. As always, happy reading, readers :)**


	31. Chapter 31

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Thirty-One**

**Glee isn't mine.**

**Guys, I got some lovely reviews this week so thank you so much! (I didn't even ask for them!) I love trawling through my reviews. It gives me so much joy to see that you lot have enjoyed reading the story almost as much as I have enjoyed writing it. I'm hoping to work a lot harder on this story and get a few chapters out as fast as I can now that I've finished at university for the year. Look forward to that, my lovely readers. Anyway, as a proper thank you, I give you … (drum roll please) … the next instalment! Also, because I have an inkling that the language in this chapter is a bit rude and, added to some other stuff, it may warrant a bumping up to 'M' rating. Let me know. **

SANTANA POV

Okay bitches, I'll admit it. I have a shitload of porn in my bag. But does that mean that Corcoran is allowed manhandle me into her room? I don't think so. I know that I'm hot stuff and all, and so is my Britt-Britt, but that doesn't mean that she can do whatever she likes with us. And on _that_ train of thought…

Brittany, as always, senses when my thoughts turn a little raunchy (handcuffs, chocolate sauce, maybe a little help from the toys in my bedside table) and gives me a sweet half-smile that promises that whatever I'm thinking of _will_ come true tonight. Or whenever we don't think that the others are listening.

Anyway, my point is that after the first movie of the day Jo manhandles Me and Britt-Britt into her bedroom and shoves us onto her bed. Brittany falls with a giggle and I lounge across it, peering up at Jo from under my lashes. I look hot. I make sure to stretch a little because, come on, she's as equally hot as Britt and me _and_ I never intend to let her live down the fact that she told me she likes my 'sandbags'. I don't know if she remembers that though… People who suffer from concussions can sustain some memory loss. Regardless, I prop myself up on the bed in a certain manner that _emphasises_ my _assets_, if you know what I mean. My boobs look huge, okay? Yeesh.

"Hi Jo!" Brittany beams up at Jo, but Jo crosses her arms and scowls fiercely down at us. Hot.

"Brittany, Santana, what are you doing?" I smirk. She left herself _wide_ open to this one.

"Well, judging from the way you pulled us in here, waiting to fuck." I let my smirk broaden when I see the faint tinge of a blush and her scowl deepens. Who'd a thought it? Jo Corcoran is a little bit of a prude. "What position do you want me in?" I lick my lips and she shakes her head vigorously. Brittany giggles and flips over, tackling me to the bed and nuzzling my neck. (Not in a hot way because I would be all up on that, but in an affectionate way.) I freeze – fuck me, I'm not used to PDA, okay? Britt, thankfully, doesn't seem to notice. Jo does though. She rolls her eyes at me and I shift my arm out from under Brittany so I can sweetly flip her the bird.

She ignores it and takes a step closer to us, crouching so she is at our eye level. I give her a wink but, again, it is ignored. "Seriously, what do you think you're doing? With Quinn and Rachel?" She hisses her question – probably so the love birds don't hear us – but Britt has no qualms about answering her loudly.

"Oh! We want to get them togeth-mmh." Jo jumps over me to clamp her hand over Brittany's mouth and hisses a sharp _no_. She peels her hand away slowly, narrowing her eyes at Britt so she doesn't say anything. I shift us so we are sitting upright against the wall and cross my legs at the ankle.

"Why do you care, Corcoran?" I quirk my eyebrow at the woman and she drums the fingers of her left hand on her knee. Brittany takes her hand and tugs but Jo shakes herself free and stands, gripping fistfuls of her own hair. She shakes her head violently.

"You guys," she chuckles, giving us an amused smile – I'm sorry but, again, _hot, _"you are the _least_ subtle matchmakers I have ever met." I snort. Sort of – I'm a sexy piece of ass though so you wouldn't ever call it a snort. I can, but you can't.

"We aren't trying to be subtle, Corcoran. We're trying to fucking get them together, not make world peace." Brittany pouts at me.

"Can we do that next?" I hesitate. Make…world peace? Her puppy dog eyes intensify and I'm nodding before I know what's happening. Fuck. I'm so whipped.

"Yep, sure Britt." Jo makes a noise that sounds strangely like a choked laugh – _fuck you_ – and I glare at her while I stroke the hair out of Britt's eyes. "So, what the fuck," 'language, Sanny' "Sorry Britt. What do you want, Corcoran? You want the Queen Bitch to leave your precious little sister alone?" I try to pretend that it isn't a big deal but it really is. If Jo doesn't want Quinn anywhere near her sister, I'll have to pick Quinn's side over hers. That's how it works. I've known the bitch for longer and she has my back. Other than the fact that she has seriously fucked up back – Brittany frowns at me like she can hear my swearing – and that she really loves Rachel, I don't know much about Jo. Except that she's fucking _awesome_. Still, Quinn comes first.

Don't tell her I said that.

"No." I don't let myself sigh – crap. Team Quinn it is. "I do want them together." Brittany squeals and I try not to. She does? "But you can't just make them sit next to each other on the couch humming love songs and making kissy faces and think that is going to work!" Brittany folds her arms and pouts. I glare. It's a good idea. (It was Brittany's idea.)

"Fuck off, Corcoran. Got a better idea, do you?" She hesitates, then shakes her head no.

"No, I don't. But I _do_ know that you have to be more subtle and supportive because otherwise they will both have major gay panic and Quinn will get pregnant again and Rachel will get will some super douche like Finnept Hudson." She spits his name with a level of venom that could seriously rival the way I feel about the idiot. Also, I'm glad that Jo and I are friends because the look in her eyes when she thinks of Hudson scares me a little. And I'm from Lima Heights Adjacent so that _means_ something. Do you _know_ what happens in Lima Heights Adjacent? Bad things. So it's a big deal that Jo scares me a little.

Speaking of gay panic though… "I don't think we'll have to worry about Quinn doing a gay panic." Jo blinks at me and then, suspicious, narrows her eyes. She accepts Brittany's invitation to sit down (admittedly, on her own bed) and peers over at me.

"And why is that?" I share a grin with Brittany.

"Well," Brittany giggles. "Sanny flirted with Quinn." Jo gapes at me. Then at Brittany. Then at me again. I touch the tip of my forefinger to her chin and force it up, closing it with an audible 'click'.

"You…flirted with her?" I shrug.

"Sort of. It was more of an angry seduction to prove that I'm better than her but it's easier to say flirting."

"But Sanny, that _is_ how you flirt." I smile at Brittany. God, how I lo- _really like_ this girl. I flick a glance at Jo, who obediently looks away (albeit with a roll of her eyes), and press a kiss to her forehead, just above her temple.

"Anyway," Jo drags our attention back to her impatiently, "what did Quinn do?" I bark a laugh.

"Oh, she liked it." My lips twitch at the memory. Quinn, wide-eyed like a rabbit, pupils blown, twitching slightly. Yeah, she was fucking _majorly_ turned on. "She _really_ liked it," I husk out. Jo wrinkles her nose.

"Um, okay." She pauses. "Still, Rachel." She gathers her thoughts, brow furrowing, and I take the lull in conversation as an opportunity to rearrange myself (my boobs). Brittany appreciates it and ogles me openly but I'm kind of hoping to embarrass Jo. That would be fantastic. Unfortunately, she has more self-control than a teenage boy (not difficult to do) and avoids eye-boob contact and I can practically see the smirk that she wants to give me that says _I know what you are doing and it isn't going to work_. Well guess what Corcoran? Challenge fucking _accepted_.

"Rachel doesn't know that girls exist," Jo starts. Brittany interrupts straight away.

"Yes she does. I'm a girl and Sanny is a girl and Quinn is a girl and she talks to us all the time. Rachel is a girl! She totally knows that girls exist" Jo nods.

"Sorry, bad phrase. What I _meant_ was: Rachel doesn't realise that girls are a romantically viable option." Jesus fucking… she has been hanging out with Rachel for far too long. I sigh and rephrase Jo's rephrasing for Britt.

"She doesn't know that she likes girls and if she does then she isn't ready to admit it." Jo glances at me.

"What do you mean? She might already know?" I shrug.

"Please. Everyone checks me out. Your precious little sister is no different and she definitely ain't no saint. I've got the stuff she wants." I gesture up and down my body but she doesn't spare me a look. Dammit. Britt does though. (And, hopefully, she'll reward me for that later…)

"Okay, great. So she can appreciate the female form."

"Wait – why do you want them together if you don't know Rachie is a unicorn?" Jo is struck dumb and then mouths 'unicorn?' to me.

"Capital G gay." Jo nods slowly, and then her eyes brighten when she makes the connection – unicorn is gay. I guess all the discussions she has had about 'bi-corns' with Brittany suddenly make a _lot_ more sense.

"Oh, because Rachel is fully in love with Quinn. I just didn't know if she was in love with her body as well." Brittany laughs.

"Of course she is! Rachie loves looking at Quinn." Jo considers that snippet of information for a moment – we both know that it has to be true because, let's face it, Britt knows everything – and then nods again.

"Okay, great." Jo picks at fluff on her bed sheet and frowns thoughtfully down at it. I nudge her with my foot and she jerks her head up. "What?"

"Got a plan yet, oh almighty one?" I drawl and she rolls her eyes.

"No. Not really. I think our best bet is to just be supportive and, please, _please_ guys – a _little_ more subtle?" I shrug. She's right but, whatever. Brittany leaps over to her and hugs her tightly, prompting Jo to slightly freak out before relaxing. Obviously she hasn't taken my advice and worked out whatever the fuck is wrong with her – stemming from the problems to do with her back.

(I assume it was abuse. I mean, seriously, that shit was fucked up. Scars upon scars upon burns... It could have been self-inflicted, maybe. I didn't see it for long enough to be sure. Whatever it was, no one with scars like that can be completely fine, like she pretends to be. She's getting better though. It only takes her a millisecond to hug Brittany back, rather than the original ten or so seconds it took when she first started tutoring Britt.)

And that was the end of our super-top-secret-"sort-of-like-we-are-super-secret-agents?"-"Yes-exactly-like-that-Britt"-meeting. Normally, I would be really fucking pissed off if someone said stuff like that to Britt, probably because they would mean it like she's stupid or a little kid, but Jo gets it. She likes that Britt sees things differently. She likes that she has an indestructible, insuppressibly optimistic outlook on life– yeah, I can use big words too, fuckers – and she likes, just for a brief moment or two, to pretend that she sees things like Britt-Britt does. I try, sometimes, but it's hard. Totally worth it, but hard. Brittany is so lucky.

Jo forbids me from changing any of the movies planned for today to the porn I brought. That totally sucks because I brought this _awesome _one over and I just know that Berry would have loved it. She's kind of a geek/nerd (what's the difference? Oh, who cares – they're both below me) and, trust me, that 'adult movie' is definitely for the geeky type. It's basically a slutty spin-off of the Lord of the Rings. So, thanks to Jo being a party-pooper – Brittany's words, not mine – we are stuck watching the boring movies. Titanic first, so we get all the crying out of the way, followed by a light hearted rom-com that I can't recall the name of. Mostly because I wasn't watching it; I was too busy with Brittany sitting on my lap and being slightly nervous that our friends would call us out on it.

A break for lunch, at which time Dave appeared suddenly, drooling. Ew. Boys. I'd heard he was living with Jo but I hadn't really believed it because I'd seen no sign of the place being inhabited by a boy. Turns out Jo bribed him with a couple of packets of mnm's to stay in his room and agreed to alternating dish-washing nights. Brittany hugs him and he looks kind of shocked. He doesn't know my Brittany. He disappears again into his room with a pile of food after smiling at me _and_ at Brittany, which I allow because he is _super_ gay and therefore not interested in my Britt-Britt, and we all return to our movies – bellies full, popcorn replenished.

Brittany and Quinn decided that we were having a Disney movie night. Berry likes French films and, who would have guessed,_ horror_ movies when she's not watching musicals, but Quinn likes old movies – actually, just Audrey Hepburn. I'm pretty sure she has a major lady boner for the woman – and Disney. Plus, Brittany loves Disney. We were outvoted, three-to-two, when Brittany turns her eyes pleadingly on Jo and Jo succumbs like the little whipped bitch she is. Rachel and I scowl at her but she spreads her hands wide with a 'what did you expect me to do' expression. I forgive her. Brittany is pretty persuasive.

So we settled in for a marathon of The Little Mermaid, Hercules, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, and, of course, The Lion King 1 and 2. I surrender after that to exhaustion and refuse to watch another thing. I drag Brittany to the door and, making sure none of the others have followed us, quell any of her objections with a fierce kiss. I push her against the door and press my forehead against hers.

"Wait here." She nods, slightly dazedly, and I smile, brushing my lips against hers once more. I turn and lock eyes with Dave, who rips his eyes away immediately, blushing. I glare but let it go. He isn't going to tell anyone. Over our time together in the Bully Whips, I found out that he's actually a pretty good guy. Other than the whole 'I beat people up because I am a seriously repressed individual and I'm a dick because I want one in me' thing. We identified with one another (except for the dick part. I don't want one of those.)

I stride into the living room and, leaning on the doorframe, give Jo a lingering, wide smirk. She narrows her eyes but doesn't comment, even when I lick my lips. Bugger. Oh well, she'll break one of these days.

"Q," I bark out. "Quit staring at the hobbit for a minute and listen to me." Q breaks away from where she is staring like a lost puppy at Rachel (she totally is), and glares at me. "I'm going home with B." She moves to collect her things, seeing as I have the only key to my house, but I hold up a hand. "You aren't sleeping at my place tonight. Find somewhere else to go," I flick my eyes at Streisand, "because Britt and I are having a sleepover. Kay, bye." I spin on my heel, ignoring her yell of outrage, and grab Brittany by the wrist and yank her out of Jo's house. "Thanks for having us Jo. Same time next week!"

I drive like a beast back home. The second we get there, Britt slams me against the car and smirks at me when I shiver. I entwine our fingers and tug. "Not here," I moan when she drags her lips down my throat. "Inside." From the way her fingers wiggle against me, she has the wrong idea by what I mean by that and I choke out a "no, Britt, inside the _house_."

She skips away from me, leaving me jelly-legged with anticipation, and bats her eyelashes at me from the front door. "Come _on, _Sanny! I'm tired."

I unlock the front door under great stress. Brittany's wandering hands do not help me focus at all and, finally, I throw the door open and push her inside. "Upstairs, Brittany S. Pierce," I say with a wicked grin. "Let's get this party started."

We trip up the stairs, too engrossed in each other to see what we've tripped over, and slam our way down the hallway to my bedroom. I close the door behind us and lean Britt up against the door, slowing our kisses down. Even if I can't say it out aloud, or even really to myself in my mind, I can still show Britt that I love her with my kisses. I press my lips to hers tenderly before moving to worship her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. She tugs me up by the hair and seals us together fiercely. Then she bites my lip, drawing blood. That's my girl.

I let her drag me to my bed and she laughingly straddles my thighs, bending down to kiss me. I run my hands through her hair, down her back, feeling the bunching and shifting of her muscles. God, she is so hot. Attractive-wise _and_ temperature. I can feel every part of me heating up the longer she presses against me.

Our kisses, somehow, progress to sloppy kisses with tongue and open mouthed sucks and nips and bites all along my neck and collar-bone and "_oh sweet jesus, _do that again, Britt" brilliant swirls of her tongue. My fingers clench reflexively on her hips and I fight the urge to buck up towards her. She is definitely not going to top me tonight. At least, not first. Maybe later.

I growl when she nips my earlobe and turn us so that I am on top and she is staring up at me now, surprised by the sudden movement. I grin down at her and lick a path up from that cute hollow in her collarbone to under her ear. She moans and arches up so, as a reward, I attach my mouth to her neck and suck, gently and then harder as she writhes. She winds her hand into my hair at my neck and laughs when I flick my tongue on her skin, ticklish.

I take a breather, resting my chin on her sternum, so I can smile at her. The light in her eyes sparkle and she runs her fingers tenderly through my hair. Her lips are deliciously swollen and I lean forward to claim them again, briefly, chastely. A thought, just one thought, is swirling through my mind and I have to say it.

"Britt," I breathe. She smiles. "I love you."

Her mouth falls open and she doesn't speak. I wait and wait. Anyone else might be terrified by her lack of reaction. Not me. I know Brittany, as much as anyone that isn't Brittany can know how Brittany thinks. And, from the way her eyes are sparkling and her lips are stretching tight into a wide, beaming grin, and from the way that she is now attacking me with her lips and hugging me to her chest (totally not complaining, hello boobies) and squealing, I know that she likes what I just said.

"Santana," she murmurs after a moment. I hum a 'yes' into the tight whorl of her ear and she brushes her lips gently over my cheek. "I love you too."

After that, it's a bit of a muddle. There are hands everywhere and lips and teeth and, strangely enough, clothes take a while to come off. Right now isn't about sex. Well, it is. It _totally_ is because Britt is fucking amazing at everything, but right now it's super about me showing her that I love her more than anything else in the world, us showing each other. Ooh, that would make her happy if I said that. I'll tell her that later. After I finish ravishing her. Many times.

Unfortunately, my door opens and I peel myself away reluctantly from Brittany so that I can get up and close it. How bad would it be if someone walked past and saw this? I really should remember to lock it. I sashay over to the door because I know that Britt will be looking at my hips and my bum and my legs as I walk and move to click the door closed again but it is blocked by something. I glance down and see the tip of a shoe in the gap.

"Santana, what the hell is going on?" My Papi's voice rumbles through the gap and he slams the door open. I jump out of the way and flash him a smile.

"Papi! You're home!"

"Clearly," he spits. His eyes flick over to my bed and back to me. I am suddenly self-conscious about the hickeys I know are starting to show and my kiss-swollen lips. "Santana, what the fuck is going on?" He never swears. My papi never swears. Oh god. He knows.

"Papi," I start to say, but he takes a step towards me, towards Brittany, and his breath shudders out his nose. I stop speaking as every part of me, lungs, limbs, heart, seems to be utterly useless to me in this moment. _Get me out of this_. Save _me,_ I tell my body, but there is no response.

"Santana, mi precioso, what are you doing with her?" He sounds desperate, so desperate, for me to lie to him. I can't function. My body seems to have crashed due to the abrupt shift from unbelievable happiness and contentment and, I'll admit, arousal, to this overwhelming fear and shame. My face feels wet and I taste…salt on my lip? I realise that I am crying, no, _sobbing_ and shaking as I face my papi.

"Papi, you know Brittany." He looks gravely over my head and I wonder what Brittany is doing, what she looks like. I can't remember whether or not I ripped off her shirt.

"I know Brittany. What I want to know is why you were kissing her." I slam my eyelids shut and, even though my heart feels like it is beating right out of my chest, I do what I've always done. Protect Brittany. I take a step backwards, to stand in front of Brittany in case he reacts badly, and meet his eyes.

"Brittany is my girlfriend. I was kissing her because I love her."

**Alright folks – I'm fairly sure this is a cliff hanger and I am perfectly content to leave it here. I'd love to know what you think I should do next. I mean, I have a plan and I've already written some stuff, but I'd love to hear regardless. I know that a lot of you would like to know more about Jo's past and I promise you that I will deliver on that front soon enough. Hope you enjoyed my foray into the slightly hormonal mind of Santana and I hope I did the kissing scene justice (first time sort-of-smut yay! Let me know how I can improve on it if you want to). Also, as I said, tell me if you think the rating needs to go up to 'M'. As always, happy reading, readers :)**


	32. Chapter 32

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Thirty-Two**

**Glee isn't mine.**

**To an amazing, anonymous reviewer, thank you very much for pointing out that I have been disgustingly lax in addressing Quinn's character and plot line. I devote this next chapter to you (and to all my other lovely followers) (that's discriminatory – I also devote it to those of you who aren't lovely) and I hope that you enjoy. **

QUINN POV

"You can always stay at my house again, Quinn." This is fourth time I've declined Rachel's offer. She'd offered twice at Jo's apartment, and then forced Jo into offering a bed in her apartment as well (which had been delivered in a not-at-all-reluctant and oh-so-sincere monotone). The third time popped out when we were hopping into my car so I could drive her home and, now, parked outside her house, the fourth offer.

"Rachel," I say laughingly. "It's fine, really. You think that San and Britt haven't kicked me out before?" The dark hides Rachel's face but I know that she is blushing. "Relax," I tell her. "I'll just go home tonight."

'Home' sounds so foreign referring to my mother and father's house. It's not home. Rachel's house is more home to me. Hell, Jo doesn't even _like_ me and her new apartment is more of a home to me. Still, using the word reassures Rachel, though I can tell she is valiantly resisting the urge to ask me why I haven't been 'home' lately, and she leaves with one last hug and then a wave when she gets to her front door. Now is the time that I start thinking my bad, hurtful thoughts about Santana.

I _cannot_ believe that the bitch kicked me out! I mean, I know that it's her house and all and I know that she wants to get 'her mack on' with Britt but seriously. Where was I going to go? Maybe she thought that I would go to Rachel's. In fact, she probably did. Still, I didn't want to come off as too clingy or impose on Rachel's family (even though she explicitly stated 'it's not an imposition at all, Quinn' in her second offer) so I declined. Four times. The thing it, this _thing_ between us – us working out our differences and becoming friends and all that – it's going really well. I don't want to ruin it.

Besides, I have to go home sometime. Even if it is just to take some money from my parent's wallets as they lie unconscious in their self-induced alcohol comas.

I pull into my driveway and fish into my bag for my house key. It's near the top, seeing as I had to stay in their house for the week that I was suspended. Funny story, that. (Sarcasm.) The school called my mother and she insisted that I stay with her, in their house, otherwise she would pull me out of McKinley. Cheerios and Glee are the most important things to me right now and she knows that. She is very good at manipulating me. Normally, it looks like she is just interested in what I'm interested in, but I'm fairly sure that she is only interested to the point that she knows what it is that I love so that when she needs me to do something she can take those things away from me. She is where I learnt all of my best moves.

Let me tell you something: it's a hell of a lot easier to sneak into somewhere when you don't have to worry about how much noise you are making. Judging from the number of open bottles, some empty, some only half-empty, scattered around the kitchen they have drunk themselves into oblivion lasting the whole weekend. That, and I could probably hold the Gay-Lesb-Al meeting in here and they would never know the difference, intoxicated as they are to the point of unconsciousness.

I take a quick look through my mother's handbag and take a few twenty dollar notes. Russel's wallet is lying, as usual, on the hallway table and he has a bunch of notes in it. I take most of them. He owes me.

I hate being in this house. It know that, I've known that for a long time now, but the feeling strikes me suddenly as I climb the stairs to my bedroom. Nothing in this house has changed, either physically or emotionally. Really, nothing has changed. The photos are in the same places, all perfectly straight and fashionably framed, and the house (minus the kitchen) is painfully clean. I spare a glance down the hall, into my parents' bedroom, where I see my mother lying on her bed. _They _haven't changed. They are still the same awful, terrible, horrendous people they were before I left. And I am still the same awful, terrible, horrendous person I was when I left. That is made all too obvious to me by the slight thrill that runs through me when I think of the pounding headache my mother will have in the morning when I see her passed out on her bed. Do normal people wish harm on other people? No.

I pause by Fran's room – it is in perfect condition and looking exactly as she left it. The bed sheets have been recently changed, I notice, and everything has been dusted. I guess they are still hoping that she will come home. I throw my own bedroom door open and smile. They haven't touched anything in here.

There is a thin layer of dust coating almost everything. None of my books have been moved. Nothing has been broken or used or…anything. Remember how I said that I learnt all of my best manipulation moves from my mother? Well, when I left, I told them if they touched anything of mine, anything in my room, then I would join them in church and confess to the sins of my family. Out aloud. In front of _everyone_ that they know. I would beg and plead for us to be forgiven and list the numerous sins – all true – that I know they've participated in. Needless to say, they can't stand shame like that, or of that magnitude and _trust me_ it is rather impressive and, grudgingly, have allowed me to live with Santana for the last few months and haven't touched anything of mine. It's probably why they let me take the money from them as well. Russel is far too stingy to not realise when it is gone.

Sometimes I wish I had parents like Santana's. Loving but distant. Extremely busy. Doling out immense piles of cash at every missed birthday, or family dinner, or Christmas time. Leaving the house free for our use, recreational or otherwise. Then again, I know how much Santana misses her parents. I, strangely enough, counted myself as more fortunate than her on many occasions – having parents that loved me, that were able to be disappointed in me. That was, until they were _only_ disappointed in me.

I step into my bedroom and drop my bag in its usual place by the desk. It lands with a slight thump, which gets me nervous. What if they _aren't_ as intoxicated as I think they are? Have I just announced my presence? Are they going to try and – god forbid – _talk _to me? I stay very still but don't hear anything. Thank you baby Jesus.

I collapse onto my bed and close my eyes, ready for sleep to overtake me. An hour later, I am still unsuccessful. It's no surprise, really. I've never slept well here. I've never felt safe. For the first half of my life, it was because I was Lucy and I was fat and ugly and unpopular and I had to watch out for Fran pranking me. After I became Quinn, I just couldn't sleep. Who would have thought life got harder after you grew up? Friends, boyfriends, homework, cheerleading, still being too fat for Sue Sylvester, teen pregnancy, bullying, being kicked out of your house. I only hope I'm out of the house before Russel wakes up. I learnt years ago that he has a vile temper after drinking. And during drinking. And before drinking. I still have a scar, actually.

Just thinking about it makes me uncomfortable. Added to the permanent discomfort of being here, I know that I can't stay here; I definitely can't sleep here. I grab some new clothes from my wardrobe and stuff them into my bad, leaving my dirty clothes in the hamper. For all her faults, of which she has many, my mother has always done the washing that 'mysteriously' appears in my room.

As I'm filling my bag with all the little things I want, there is a crash downstairs. I freeze. _Don't move_, I tell myself. _Don't move; don't breathe; don't think._ Halting footsteps bring a heavy body up the stairs. It has to be Russel. My mother is on her bed and even in her most drunken state she would never allow herself to seem heavy. It's unbecoming in a lady.

He pauses every few steps. Thumps on the wall tell me that he is steadying himself. _Please God, if you want to do one thing for me, don't let him know that I am here. Please_. As he comes closer, I hear a faint, slurred mumbling. He's talking to himself. Then I hear a door creak open – Fran's room.

Her bedroom light flicks on. I can see the light filter in under my door. I slowly slide off my bed where I have been lying and pull myself underneath the bed. After a moment, the footsteps start again and my door is next to open. Well, slammed open. The light comes on. I pray harder, this time hoping that he doesn't notice my bag.

"Stupid girl," he slurs. I can see his feet, see him sway slightly. His feet carry him forward and he sits on my bed. "Stupid, had to, pregnant." He sniffles. I fancy I can small the alcohol fumes on his breath from where I am. He doesn't say anything else, just breathes heavily for a few minutes, and then he slumps further onto my bed. I hear it creak and the mattress comes dangerously close to my nose. I hardly dare to breath myself, sure that the little puffs of air will somehow alert him to the fact that I'm here.

He mutters again, untranslatable drunken murmurs, and I clench my eyes closed. _Just go to sleep, go to sleep so I can leave_. The adrenaline is building up inside of me and I can't handle it. I'm certain that I'm going to do something stupid soon if I can't get out of here.

Finally, thank the heavens, he starts to snore. I pull myself out from under my bed, grab my things, and get the hell out of there.

"That was too close," I breathe out unsteadily when I reach my car. I switch on the ignition and just…breathe for a moment. Wait for my fingers to stop twitching and trembling on the steering wheel. Listen to the familiar and soothing rumble of the engine. Smell the petrol fumes – better, far better, than the alcohol that clogs the entirety of my 'home'.

Eventually, I pull away from the curb and it's only a few minutes later, when I am parked outside of Rachel's house, that I realise that I have driven here. That didn't make much sense. I mean, I hadn't given any thought to where I was going to drive but it seemed like the next time I looked up form the road, Rachel's house was just sitting pretty, right in front of me. I sigh and tap my fingers, unsure, on the steering wheel. Should I? I know that she offered to let me stay (four times) but that doesn't mean that I want to. I mean, I _do_ want to stay with her because she is my friend and I really need a place to stay, but I don't want to stay with her because I don't want to impose.

The lights are all out as well. I don't want to wake up the Berry dads by knocking or something equally silly – throwing rocks at her bedroom window or something like that – so I grab my phone and draft a message.

**To Rachel Berry:** Hey Rach. Something came up. Can I stay with you tonight?

As my thumb hovers over the 'send' button, I make a deal with myself. If she answers in the next five minutes, then I will go and sleep – stay! – with her. If she doesn't, then I will assume that she's asleep and just stay in my cay for the night. I press down on the button and wait. And wait.

Five minutes are up. I throw my phone into the cup holder in the centre console and climb into my backseat. I think if I use my jacket as a blanket and my bag as a pillow, I should actually be quite comfortable.

Thumping my bag into a more comfortable position proves to be quite difficult, seeing as it is kind of half full of books, half full of clothes. I have the feeling that my neck will be complaining in the morning. The second I rest my head on the bag, though, my phone rumbles angrily against its plastic confinement. I leap at it, whacking my head against the roof, and open the message.

**From Rachel Berry:** Ofcors wher r u;

It appears as if sleep is not conducive to her texting abilities. I really shouldn't find that as cute as I do but she is so proper and particular all the time that I think it's endearing. I'm going to save this and use it as blackmail.

**To Rachel Berry:** I'm outside.

**From Rachel Berry:** outsid MY house?

**To Rachel Berry:** Yes.

**From Rachel Berry:** B at front door 1 min

I grin at my phone and hurry to repack my bag and throw myself out of the car, racing to the front door. This is not 100 percent because I want to get out of my car. I'm also running because it is _really_ cold at night. I sprint to the front door and bob from foot to foot outside, trying to keep warm, until I hear the lock clicking and she ushers me in. I take her in from head to foot and try not to laugh. Not good manners, that. Laughing at your host. Especially when they are offering you a bed and you don't have one.

But who wouldn't laugh? Rachel's hair is all mussed and knotted from sleep. Her eyes are droopy and she is dressed in pyjamas that have little cupcakes on them, leading me to believe that the other times she has had me over, she has been wearing her more appropriate, teenage, _normal_ pyjamas. I wish I had my camera.

She yawns widely and shuffles back up the stairs, taking my hand in hers and stumbles into her door. She frowns at the offending piece of wood, shoving it open with her shoulder, and then crawls into her bed. I stand by her bed. She doesn't appear to about to move.

"Rachel?" I say quietly.

"Mm wha?" she groans, pressing her face into her pillow.

"Move over." The left side of the bed is mine. I always sleep on the left side. Plus, if she doesn't move then I will have to climb over her.

"No," she whines, dragging the sound out for a while. I poke her in the shoulder.

"Move over." I don't notice her hand moving but I do notice when she throws her second pillow in the general direction of my face. "Rachel!"

"Quinn," she growls, one eye popping open to glare at me. "Get. In. The. Bed." I feel my eyes widen and I immediately move to climb over her and lie on the right side of the bed. But only because I wanted to. After a few minutes I sigh.

"This isn't going to work." I nudge Rachel and she sighs, turning to face me.

"What?"

"I'm cold." She peers down at me and rolls her eyes.

"Get under the covers then, Quinn." She pulls at the sheets under me and tugs them down, poking me until I lift my hips up, and brings them up and over my feet, calves, thighs, and abdomen. She drops her head back onto the pillow. "Satisfied?" I nod silently, my eyelids already drooping. _So_ much warmer.

Now curled in this supremely comfortable and warm nest, I drift off to sleep in a matter of moments. Plus, there is always the added benefit that I'm not scared of my drunken father coming in and attacking me. No, the worst thing I have to worry about in the Berry household is being woken up too early or the fact that they have no bacon.

Except, of course, that in _this_ world, in _my_ world, nothing works out quite like that. No, not for me. That would just be too nice of the universe. Just _once_ I would like to have some good luck: to not be the stupid girl that believes 'trust me' is a contraceptive measure, to not be the pregnant teen, to not have parents who enjoy listing my numerous faults as they add litre after litre of alcohol to their bloodstream.

Instead of Rachel and me sleeping in until her alarm goes off, we are woken by frantic shouting downstairs and pounding footsteps. Rachel's door flings open and the light – the blinding light – switches on.

"Rachel! Rachel I need you to look after Britt." That's Jo's voice. Why is Jo here at…_one_ in the morning? Something, I assume her fist, pounds on the door and she runs in to tug the covers from Rachel's head. I blink up at her and she smirks down at me, albeit slightly distractedly. I realise that I am curled around Rachel and jerk away, whacking my head on the wall. Rachel just groans and pulls her pillow over her head. Jo looks desperate so I poke Rachel in the shoulder but Jo shakes her head. "That won't do anything. Rachel sleeps really heavily in the middle of the night. Watch."

Jo grabs Rachel by the shoulders and shakes her vigorously, calling loudly into her ear. "Rachel. Rachel, get up now." Rachel just grumbles again so Jo rolls her eyes. "Miss Berry," she says in a formal voice, "you are on stage in one minute." She drops Rachel back onto the bed and backing away. It strikes me as strange, but I soon realise why she did it. Rachel flings herself out of the bed a second later and begins to pat her hair down into a semblance of normalcy, frantic. After half a minute, her face takes on an adorable betrayed expression and she pouts at Jo.

"That was mean." Jo just nods.

"Yeah, whatever. Now, get your ass downstairs." She sprints to the door and down the stairs without pausing to explain. Rachel obediently strides after her and, honestly? I don't want to be left out. I jump out of the bed – _ah! Cold floor, cold floor –_ and sprint after the sisters.

Leroy and Hiram look up at us with bleak expressions as we enter the living room. Leroy has his hand pressed to his mouth, eyes wide, and looks like he is about to cry. Hiram looks like he could kill someone while crying, but is holding back both eventualities admirably. The emotions – Jo, hiding her worry as best as she can; Leroy and Hiram, horrified and upset – are explained when I see who is in the living room.

Santana and Brittany (who Rachel has crossed the room for and has tucked in her arms, and who is sobbing) are in the Berry's living room. Santana is holding her left hand tenderly. From the looks of it, the wrist is badly sprained. There's also a spreading bruise across her left cheek that tells me that someone slapped her. Hard.

"Hell San. Did you try and steal Puck from Lauren again?" I laugh nervously even as I make my way towards her. I can see a bandage in the medical kit that one of the Berry dads have on the coffee table and, being the Head Cheerio, I know how to deal with injuries. I take a first aid course at the start of every year, at Coach Sue's insistence. I kneel beside her and examine the wrist gently. When I prod at it, she lets out a hiss through her teeth. Yeah, sprained.

After I'm done wrapping her wrist, she looks up at me from under her lashes. Closer now, I can see trail marks of mascara. She's been crying. "Thanks, Q." I nod. _Oh god, she's thanking me_, my thoughts begin. _This isn't going to be good. This is going to be the opposite of good. Something terrible has happened._

"What's wrong?" I ask immediately. She recoils, looking slightly offended.

"What? I can't thank you for something?" she snaps. I frown.

"You can," I begin, raising my eyebrow in that threatening move I perfected in sophomore year, "but you don't. What's wrong?"

She starts crying again. If I didn't know any better, I would think that she's drunk. I've only ever seen her cry when she's drunk. Brittany appears out of nowhere and hugs Santana tightly, squishing San's bad hand between them. When Santana squawks in pain, Brittany just shifts them so that Santana is on her lap and, slowly, Santana winds her arms around her girl's neck and sobs into her shoulder. Brittany wraps one hand around her waist, holding her tightly to her, and lets her other hand stroke slowly from Santana's neck down her back.

"Sanny's papi saw us. We were having sweet lady kisses," she murmurs. "He was angry." I can feel myself blanch and a small hand rests on my shoulder. Rachel. I hide a smile at the support. Now is not the time to smile. Not only is Santana _injured_, badly, but also Brittany is obviously in shock. She's barely speaking out aloud.

"Your father did this to you?" Hiram growls. Santana flinches but doesn't say anything. Britt stares sadly down at her girlfriend (?) and then nods to Hiram.

"He was really angry. But Sanny said that I was her girlfriend and that she loved me and," her voice cracks and she starts crying again but she keeps talking, probably because she knows that Santana can't at the moment. "And her papi yelled and yelled in Spanish and I don't know enough to know what he was saying but Sanny was really upset." I can see Brittany's arms tightening around Santana as she speaks. I don't know that she's aware of it. I doubt that Santana can breath but she isn't complaining. If anything, she hugs Brittany tighter as well. "And then he _hit_ her and Sanny told me to leave so I called Jo and she came over and spoke to Papi Lopez and then she got us out and drove us here."

I glance over at Jo, surprised. I knew that they were friends but I didn't know that they were such good friends that Brittany would call Jo first. She is talking in a hushed voice just outside the living room into her phone, frowning. At her name, she turns and smiles to Brittany but it is a tense, small smile and Brittany isn't reassured at all.

"Jo? Sweetie, what are you doing?" Leroy asks. Jo covers the speaker on her phone and takes a step into the room.

"I'm just directing the police to Santana's house." Santana sobs at that and Brittany frowns.

"Why?"

Jo opens her mouth but I find myself answering before she can. "Because, Britt. It is _never_ okay for a dad to hit their child. Ever." I can feel Rachel's hand tighten on my shoulder. I assume she is just thinking that I'm worried about Beth, that I have that maternal, niggling feeling in my chest (which I do). Jo's gaze, on the other hand, narrows and focuses on me. She nods slowly before ripping her eyes away, back to Brittany. I sigh. Questions. Always questions.

"Quinn is right. He is in big trouble for what he did to our Santana and I am going to make sure that he pays for it." She smiles gently at Brittany again, before stepping back out into the hall to finish her conversation.

Santana cries herself to sleep onto Brittany's lap. Brittany moves them to the couch and lets San curl up at her side. Leroy leaves and then returns with hot chocolates for everyone. Jo joins us after a little while but she sits on the far side of the room. That is when I notice that she is clutching her right hand tenderly.

I grab the medical kit and move next to her. I hold out my hand and, after a long moment and a drawn out sigh, she gives me her hand. I wrap it quickly and efficiently like I was told and then return to my spot next to Rachel. When I meet her eyes next, Jo gives me a little nod and mouths a 'thank you'. In my mind, I do a little happy dance. But only a tiny one. Right now I'm too depressed to do a real happy dance.

"You're always free to stay here, Santana." Rachel says tentatively when Santana wakes up after a short nap. I know why it's tentative. I mean, we've discussed this extensively. She's worried that Santana doesn't actually like her, but just endures her. I know that San likes her though. She's just a little more abrasive than everyone else and it takes her a while to change or open up. She's a little like me in that way – hell, we're practically mirror images of each other.

Santana smiles painfully at Rachel and snuggles closer to Brittany. "Thanks Rachel." Rachel stiffens next to me. This is possibly the first time Santana has ever said her name. "But Britt and I are going to her house. Tell her parents. I mean, how much worse can it get?" She laughs, sniffles, and wipes at her eyes. Brittany rests her chin on top of Santana's head.

"Well, would you two like some blankets? We can watch a movie and then tomorrow you can go to Brittany's." Santana gives Rachel a small smile and an even smaller nod.

"Yeah, that sounds good." She laughs again, a short laugh but a laugh nonetheless. "But, can we watch something funny?" Rachel nods before scurrying out of the room to get the blankets. I pop a movie in. I don't know what it is but it came from Rachel's pile of (and she named this pile) 'Ridiculously Stupid Rom-Coms That I Really Don't Understand But Daddy Thinks They Are Funny So We Have Them Anyway'.

Apparently it's a good choice because Brittany sits up and beams at the screen. "Oh, I love this movie!" Santana falls asleep in the first ten minutes. Jo is still in the armchair across the room and scowling at nothing in particular. Rachel falls asleep halfway through the movie and starts drooling on my shoulder. I snap a picture on my phone – this is _definitely_ going into my blackmail pile. Maybe I can use it as a 'get out of Funny Girl free' card…

**I apologise for how late it was but I hope that you liked it regardless. Some action – cue Shelby – some backstory and some hopefully romantic inclinations coming soon! I'll get back to you on that. Reviews would be lovely. Tell me what you would like to see coming up – and, obviously, that works because this entire chapter was built around a review I read last week. As always, happy reading, Readers :)**


	33. Chapter 33

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Thirty-Three**

**Glee isn't mine. **

**Please enjoy. **

You know, I was almost asleep. _So close_. And then my fucking phone has to fucking ring.

I stare at it. Mocking me with its whimsical tune. And yes, I am very much aware that inanimate objects cannot mock but instead it is humankind that project said mocking upon said objects. Give me a break – I'm practically a genius. I _know_ that. It is a woman's prerogative to believe, however, that objects are mocking her – no matter how not mocking the objects are.

I fling myself out of my bed to answer it. Not many people, after all, have my number. It is bound to be an emergency. When I grab it, the caller ID tells me (that's a useful thing, isn't it? Caller ID. I like it) that it is Brittany. I debate whether or not to answer. She's probably worried about Lord Tubbington – who I have recently been introduced to and who is the most enormously, dangerously, morbidly obese cat I have ever met – and his smoking habits. Still, I should answer. I wasn't going to sleep anyway. (And if, here, you refer back to when I said that I was almost asleep…I was lying. I was nowhere near the dream realm.)

"Yellow?" I like answering the phone like that. Almost without fail, Britt will answer with a different colour. Last time it was 'Barack Obama black'. Slightly racist? Perhaps. But I think that is something you have to deal with if you have Sue Sylvester as a coach.

"Jo?" Immediately I know that something is wrong. She sounds out of breath and terrified. (Oh, what a fantastic indicator of something being wrong, Jo. Just thought of that one now, did you? Well done. Top notch. Real clever of you.)

"Britt? Brittany, what's wrong?"

"Jo, you have to come. Quick. San's house." I am already at my front door and shrugging on my jacket by the time she finishes speaking. I keep my phone pressed to my ear as best I can and make what I think are vaguely soothing sounds through the line.

"Whoa, whoa. Slow down Britt. I am on my way." Now I'm in my car. "Britt, just tell me what's wrong." Now, in saying that I am talking on my phone and driving at the same time, I in no way condone this behaviour. This is very, very illegal, not to mention dangerous. As it is, I still felt that it had to be done in this instance.

"San. Her dad yelling. Help, Jo. Can't breathe." She is sucking in her breath really fast now and, to tell you the truth, I am very worried.

"Britt. Brittany can you hear me?" I can hear a little wind rustling so I assume that she is nodding. She also whimpers a little so I keep talking. "Brittany, I need you to sit down and put your head between your knees. I need you to take some deep breaths okay? I'll breathe with you if you want." As I navigate the streets to Santana's house – thank the heavens for no traffic in this stupid arse town at midnight – I listen to Brittany breathing. Finally, it begins to slow and lengthen and she – oh no. Oh no, no, no. Now she's crying.

"No, Britt, sweetie. Please don't cry."

"He was shaking her and I was so scared." I murmur a few responses but I am almost there and I swerve to park haphazardly – sorry to the neighbours lawn – on the curb. I leap out of my car and run to her. She's still sitting with her head between her knees. I don't think she even looked up when I parked like a maniac. I end the call and slide the phone into my pocket, moving smoothly to kneel in front of her.

"Britt?" I whisper. Her head jerks up and she launches herself at me. "Tell me what's going on." She tugs me to the front door and begins to babble at me non-stop and at a terrific pace. (Terrific in the archaic sense meaning 'to frighten'.) "Britt?" I grab her shoulders and shake her once, lightly. "Britt, I need you to focus on me." Her blue eyes settle on my face and I make sure that I look completely and utterly in control. That is what she needs right now. "I need you to tell me what is happening so that I can help Santana. Can you do that?" She nods. "Okay. What is happening?"

"He's really scary, Jo!"

"Okay. Okay. It's alright, Britt. Just…" I rub her arm quickly, soothingly I hope, before shoving myself into a standing position with my other hand on the ground. "Just stay here, okay? I'll get San out and then I'll take you guys to Rachel's. Everything is going to be-"

"No!" Brittany jumps up from the bottom step and frowns stubbornly. She sets her jaw. "_I_ am her girlfriend." She points at herself. I frown. I know that – what part of what I had said made her think I didn't know they were dating? "I'm not weak, Jo," she says, despite her tears. "I'm not weak and I'm not stupid. She is my girlfriend and I'm going to help her." I open my mouth to argue – what? She might get scared. I mean, she _is_ already half hysterical – but she glares at me. "I am not going to let her get hurt again, Jo. He _hit_ her." In addition to her now suddenly terrifying persona and the knowledge that Santana is already hurt, there is a crash from somewhere in the house and I don't have time to argue with her. And I don't want to (scary Britt…). She's right – if she wants to rescue her own girlfriend, then who am I to stop her?

"You're right. Let's go."

Britt immediately turns and shoves the door open, sprinting up the stairs to Santana's room. I swear under my breath and run after her. I can't blame her for her, well, not _eagerness_ but…impatience, perhaps? Right. I can't blame her for that. Her girlfriend is in danger. Anyone would be impatient to help their girlfriend (or boyfriend, I suppose, for all your gung-ho straight girls).

Thankfully, Britt is waiting outside their room when I catch up. There is some pretty serious yelling going on inside the room – I catch snippets of it, all from a man that I assume to be Santana's father. I can't hear her responses though.

"Disgusting – what are we – in my house – all this time – who else knows – how long have – when were you – and with that stupid blonde-"

I also assume that the last comment was about Brittany because Santana starts screaming some pretty intense threats. _No one_ insults Brittany in front of Santana.

"No Papi! Brittany is perfect. Just because you don't understand doesn't mean it isn't real. I love her!"

And this is when we force the door open because there is a loud cracking sound of flesh on flesh. He hit her. Before I know it, I am in the room and pushing the man up against the wall, tearing him away from Santana. I vaguely recognise that Brittany has taken hold of San and they are, I don't know, talking or leaving. Whatever. All I know is that this _man_ dared to hit _my_ friend.

He isn't paying any attention to me. Instead, he is still yelling at Santana and struggling against me so I raise my left forearm and pin him by the throat to the wall. Then I smack my fist against the wall – hard. It hurts like a bitch but it is very dramatic and loud and gets his attention wonderfully.

"Hi there, arsehole," I say pleasantly. He blinks at me and then starts struggling. Smart guy, this one. I slide my forearm away from his windpipe so that I can grip it – it would be so easy for me to just start _choking _him…but I don't – with both hands. He keeps struggling and swearing at me in Spanish. "Oh, you must be mistaken. My mother is a woman, not a goat," I reply in perfect Spanish. "But your right about my father. Stupid pig…" I smile widely at him, still pleasant, and he shoves at me. Big mistake. My grip doesn't tighten but I flex my fingers a little and he pales as much as a Latino man can pale. His fingers grapple uselessly with mine. When my fingers _finally_ stop flexing, he gasps for breath.

"Who are you?" He asks when he has his breath back. I keep my smile steadily pleasant.

"That's a great question. Here's another one. Did you hit your daughter?" His mouth flaps uselessly for a moment or two and I sigh, pull him towards me and then push him away, hitting him against the wall. Not too hard. Just enough to jog his memory.

"Yes, yes, I did." I nod.

"Okay, great. I was just checking because, you know, it would be awkward if I called the police and, you know, you hadn't done anything wrong." I tilt my head to the side to see if my words were sinking in and smile again. This time, I don't look pleasant. I would be surprised if I looked anything less than furiously insane. (I don't know if you have noticed but I have a teensy tiny bit of that 'dramatic' flair that my sister is so renowned for). He flinches. "That's who I am, by the way. The girl who is going to call the police on you."

"I didn't mean to," he stammers. He slumps in my hands. I roll my eyes and let him go. He sinks to the floor and his head droops. "Where is she?" He looks desperately up at me. "Where is my daughter?" I look back over my shoulder but she is gone.

"Well, gee. I guess she's not here," I say helpfully. _He shouldn't be within one hundred miles of Santana. And he _won't_ be, if I get my way._ "I wonder why that is."

"I didn't mean to." Great. Now he's crying, great sobs of pathetic self-disgust and woe. Thankfully, his little breakdown is over after a few seconds and he hauls himself up. He smooths the creases that I made in his suit jacket and fixes his glasses. Then he turns his what I imagine to be his perpetually judgemental gaze on me. "Who are you? Some _dyke_ friend of my daughters?"

"That's right." I cross my arms and he sighs.

"I apologise. That was uncalled for." I shrug.

"No worries. I'm used to it. You know what I'm _not_ used to doing?" When he doesn't say anything, I answer my own question. "Restraining myself from attacking someone who really needs a reality check. I am _literally _about three seconds away from kicking your arse so instead of doing that I'm just going to say this. I am taking your daughter somewhere she will be safe. If you really want to apologise because you," my lips tighten but I force the words out, "didn't mean it, then I suggest that you cooperate with the police. I also suggest that you and your wife discuss this issue between yourselves."

I move to storm out of the room but he interrupts with an outburst. There is only one thing I hate more than someone that hits their kids and that is someone who hits their kids _and_ interrupts one of my storm outs.

"I can't tell her! I can't tell Maria that our daughter is a _lesbian_." I freeze and then force my shoulders to stop tensing. This man seriously needs brain surgery if he thinks _that_ is the issue I was talking about.

"I was actually talking about the fact that you hit your daughter." I turn and glare at him. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I particularly enjoy the way he gasps – I can't believe that Santana has never said 'fuck' around him – and tries to intimidate me with his glare. I'm sorry but he is the least intimidating man I've ever met. He isn't very big and he's a bit nerdy looking and, well, I've had much more impressive men glaring at me. This isn't phasing me at all.

"You cannot talk to me like that in my own home." I force down my anger again and breath through my nose. _Control yourself, Jo. You want to help Santana, not get arrested. _

"I will talk to you however the _fuck_," I emphasize it with no small amount of satisfaction – he squirms –, "I want to because you just hit my best friend and your daughter in your own fucking home."

"She is a _sinner_," he hisses, glancing at the door in trepidation as if the world will make her appear like a demon out of hell and attack him.

"She is your _daughter_," I correct him. "Also, I am not a priest. Take up the matter of 'sinning' with your priest or, you know, pastor or wizard, whatever you call your delusional leader who believes in a big, all powerful man in the sky and deal with it. All I know is that it is a sin _and_ a crime to hit your daughter." I shake my head. "She's a great person, Mr Lopez and you hit her because she loves someone. That's sick." He turns away at my accusation so I open the bedroom door. "We are leaving and I am calling the police."

Now I perform a perfect storm out and slam the door behind me. I stamp down the stairs. Britt and Santana are in my car already. None of us speak as I drive us to Rachel's house. Quickly. While I break into the house (I'm not going to tell you how I broke in because I fear that you would just come and break into Rachel's house as well so I will leave this to your imagination), Brittany just strokes Santana's hair, lulling her into a state of calm.

"Hey," I murmur through my open car window. "Britt?" She looks up from Santana who is lying on her lap, eyes wide, tears threatening to spill over and waits silently for me to speak. It's unsettling. "Come on. Let's get her inside."

Britt appears unable to rouse Santana and she's too weak – not physically, are you kidding me? That girl is _strong_ – to carry San by herself. We each take one of Santana's arms and carry her into the house, laying her on the couch. I leave Britt to wake her up gently and slowly so she won't freak out at being in a reasonably foreign place. Meanwhile, I creep up to the Berry dad's room and tap hesitantly on the door.

"Rachel?" Leroy groggily asks. I take a step into the room and he smiles. "Oh, Jo. What's wrong, sweetie?" he asks in that calm, sleepy manner that means that he isn't really listening to me because he's tired but he is trying to focus on what I'm saying.

"Can you wake up Hiram please, Leroy?" Who knows what he saw in my face – I don't – but he sits up in the bed and his hand shoots out immediately to wake Hiram. The other man just grumbles and swats at his husbands hand so Leroy grabs his glasses and, putting them on, tugs on Hiram's ear.

"Ow!" Hiram jolts awake and rubs at the abused ear, pouting. "What was that for?"

"Because – wouldn't wake up – daughter – trouble!" I only catch a few words here and there and I'm more than a little impatient so I just tap on the door again to get their attention. "Yes, sweetie?"

"Can you guys come downstairs with a first aid kit and an icepack?" Hoping that the lack of information would make them move faster, I ducked out of their bedroom and back downstairs to check on my girls. "How are we doing, Britt?" I didn't really need to ask. Santana is awake now and staring blankly at the wall. Her lip is bleeding and her cheek is slightly swollen and I have to forcibly drop my keys onto the hallway table to stop myself from driving back to Santana's and punching that man.

Britt is watching her carefully. I don't think a single blink of her eyes or twitch of her finger missed her notice. After a second, she responses very quietly, her lips barely moving. "Can you get Quinn?" I nod. That makes sense. Yes. Good. Quinn. She knows how to deal with Santana and I…have no clue. I'm not the best friend. I don't know much more than the fact that she is a razorblade coated marshmallow and in love with Brittany.

I race up to Rachel's room – I'm not sure why but, well, somehow we all just _know_ that Quinn and Rachel will be there together. It's an accepted part of life. I know that Santana and Britt want the two to date so they won't be the only lesbian couple in Lima, but I know they're just friends at the moment. And also, surprisingly, Quinn may be further along in her – what does Britt call it? – 'un-pressing her lemon' than Rachel.

I hear Leroy shouting at Hiram to get the bigger medical kit when they finally get downstairs and realise what is going on and suddenly it hits me. This is happening. This is really happening. I find that I'm running to Rachel's room. I don't have enough _time_. My hands are shaking slightly with adrenaline and I force the door open loudly because I lack the coordination to do it nicely.

"Rachel! Rachel, I need you to look after Britt." The words come out of my mouth before I think about them but, as per usual, they are true. I do need Rachel to look after Britt for me. I know that she is viewed as annoying by some people but she is empathetic. She _gets_ emotions. Anyway, I don't think it really matters what I say. I could have shouted 'bananas are actually hamsters in disguise' and Rachel wouldn't wake up. Quinn does though.

The top of Quinn's head pokes out from under the duvet and she glares at the clock sleepily and then over at me. I take a few steps over to Rachel's bed and tug the covers down from Rachel's head. (She always sleep like that. She's a bed hog.) Quinn blinks up at me and it's cute, but I have no time for that. I give her a half-smile, and fight a larger grin when she finally realises that her body is curled around Rachel's and yanks herself away. Also, she hits her head quite hard and I smile again after I make sure that I don't have another injured girl on my hands.

But back to Rachel. Rachel doesn't react to my being here other than to drag her pillow over her head and to release a loud groan at the abrupt cold. Quinn pokes Rachel in the shoulder but I shake my head and flap my hand very slightly. "That won't do anything. Rachel sleeps really heavily in the middle of the night. Watch."

I grab my sister's shoulders and shake her, hard, and call into her ear. "Rachel. Rachel, get up now." Rachel grumbles again so I drop her down onto the bed and send Quinn a 'see? I told you so' triumphant eyebrow flicker. Rolling my eyes at Rachel's stubbornness, I think of the perfect idea. I know what she'll wake up for.

"Miss Berry," I say in the best mimicry of my stagehand voice from summer camp, "you are on stage in one minute." Dropping Rachel on the bed again, I scurry backwards. Knowing Rachel, she'll be up in three, two, one…

"That was mean." Rachel pouts at me when she realises what I did and I nod.

"Yeah, whatever. Now, get your ass downstairs." I sprint out of the room – again, utilising the fact that the less information these Berry's are supplied with, the more they want to know what is going on – and listen to Rachel and Quinn following obediently. Such good kids.

I move into the living room, Rachel and Quinn following quickly after me, and pace distractedly by the big window. Thinking. Thinking. What more can I do? The answer jumps out at me almost immediately. I can do what I swore I would do. Call the police. I step out of the room, vaguely seeing that Quinn is binding Santana's wrist (when did he get her wrist? Damn him.) and call the police on my mobile.

"Police complaint centre. How can I help?" The calm voice of an older woman answers and I feel the tremors, which have progressed to my knees meaning that I have to steady myself against the wall to stop from falling, lessen.

"Hello." I swallow quickly to calm the slight tremor in my voice. "I'd like to report an incident of family violence." There is a little shuffle on the other end of the phone and I assume that they are getting pen and paper so I pause.

"And what's your name?"

"Is that necessary?" I ask, startled. "It wasn't against me. It was against my friend." There is another little pause.

"I need your name and your telephone number." I suck in a quick breath but give her the information. Whatever she needs to get that son of a bitch the punishment he deserves. You know, the non-vigilante kind. "And now your friend's name."

"Santana. Santana Lopez. She's seventeen." I glance into the living room to see how my girls are going. Brittany is talking to the semi-circle of Berry's plus Quinn, Santana snug and protected in her arms. The second I look at Brittany, her eyes meet mine.

"Can you tell me your address?"

"Mine, or the aggressors? It happened at his house."

"Alright then. What's his address?" I rattle off the address quickly and then a second time. She repeats it to me and I confirm, only slightly impatient. I can feel my forehead furrowing and then I hear my name.

"– and she came over and spoke to Papi Lopez and then she got us out and drove us here." I give Brittany a tense smile. I don't think that is exactly how it happened. I mean, she leaves out the part where I pushed Mr Lopez and the part where Brittany was totally badass and rescued her distressed damsel, but I let it slide. Mostly because the lady on the phone is asking for Santana's address again.

"Jo? Sweetie, what are you doing?" Leroy questions me. I rattle the address off _again_ and then, in the pause afterwards, I cover the phone and step into the room.

"I'm just directing the police to Santana's house." I say it matter-of-factly in the hope that Santana either won't hear me or won't register it. Doesn't work. She sobs into Brittany and Britt frowns at me.

"Why?" I open my mouth to answer but Quinn answers for me.

"Because, Britt. It is _never_ okay for a dad to hit their child. Ever." Rachel lays her hand on Quinn's shoulder. I find it difficult to look away from the kneeling blonde. Wise words from her. Then again – moments flash before me. _Her hitting me. Her eyes, wide, horrified. Pushing away from me. Blank eyes – a perfect mask. _Just little things. Things on their own that might mean nothing but, well, together… I rip my eyes away from Quinn because I can feel her becoming uncomfortable under my gaze. I promise myself that I will talk to her lately because, despite the fact that everything is building up and I have never had this much on my plate, ever, and the drama is growing, no one should be alone if they've been through what I fear Quinn might have been through. Also, I can push her towards Rachel. Rachel would be good to talk to about that. _Are you really ignoring the fact that you refuse to talk to her and you are foisting your advice on Quinn without taking it yourself?_

I resolutely ignore my conscience and answer Britt. "Quinn is right. He is in big trouble for what he did to our Santana and I am going to make sure that he pays for it." I smile gently at Britt, which feels strange considering the broiling anger that erupts every time I think about Santana's split lip and his face, before stepping back out into the hall to talk to the lady on the phone.

"I'm sorry," I say immediately. "I was just explaining to some people what happened." She huffs into the phone. I can understand – she has a lot to do, phones to answer, people to help – but I'm in no mood to deal with it so I give her the rest of the information she needs as quickly as possible and hang up. I lean my head against the hallway wall for a short moment, exhausted, before forcing myself back into the living room. _No time for naps, Jo. Santana's worse off than you are. Stop being so self-absorbed and get back in there. _

When I get back into the living room and settle into the farthest armchair from the group, I see that Leroy is puttering about and making sure that everyone is happy with a mug of hot chocolate. He offers one to me but, maybe it is the extremely decisive head shake no or the look on my face but he doesn't press and just leaves the mug on the coffee table for me.

It's not that I don't like Leroy's hot chocolate. I do. Very much so. It also isn't the fact that the hot chocolate is dangerously unhealthy for you with toxic amounts of real chocolate and sugar, although that is a factor that should sway me but doesn't. In truth, it's because I don't think I'd be able to hold it. My right hand is suddenly throbbing with a vengeance. I knew from the moment that I slammed it against the wall that it would come back to haunt me later but, well, I didn't think it would hurt this much. No, I knew it would but I wasn't really thinking at that point in time.

I move my left hand under my right and rest it gently, leaning my head against the back of my chair. I'll just rest my eyes for a second and, oh no. Quinn is moving.

She grabs the medical kit silently and moves to sit next to me. She holds her hand out and doesn't move. Her eyes flick to my hand and then back up to me and, after a short (embarrassingly short) moment (what? I'm in pain) I give her my hand. I sigh, though, to show her that I'm only letting her do this because I have nothing better to do.

She wraps it really well. I'm impressed. When she moves back to the couch and sits next to Rachel, I debate whether to say anything. When she next meets my eyes, I relent and mouth a 'thank you' to her. She just smiles a very small smile and I'm grateful that she doesn't make a big hoopla about the fact that I, self-admitted bitch, am indebted to her, also a bitch.

I vaguely hear Rachel offering her house to Santana and Brittany, their accepting, and see the opening credits of the movie but I just _cannot_ focus on the movie. I like a stupid rom-com just as much as the next girl but, come on, how on earth am I supposed to focus? All I can think of is Mr Lopez and the police. I cradle my phone lightly in my now-bandaged hand and cross my legs. I'll just wait for a call.

By the time the movie is over, I still haven't been called so I give up. I'm a busy gal – my waking hours are precious. I cast a quick glance over my girls but they are all fast asleep in a strange and tangled throng of limbs, the aftermath of a long day after which they all needed was a little human comfort. (Not that anything, you know, seedy went on. I just mean that San fell asleep on top of Brittany and she wound her arms around her and Quinn and Quinn is hugging Rachel to her and Rachel is holding someone's…foot? Oh no, that's a hand. My bad.)

Anyway, like I said – I have no time to waste. There is so much for me to do; I have tutoring lesson plans, Glee rehearsal plans, avoiding my mother, plotting against Finn Hudson and William Schuester, figuring out what exactly is wrong with Fabray, finding a place for Santana to live, and most importantly – figure out what secret plans Schuester has for the New Directions Sectionals because I need to know what they are so they can be appropriately trained. I mean, I've heard that the team with that three tonne Great White Shark mascot – what was it? Vocal Adrenaline? – have had their set list for a month already. I haven't heard the barest whisper of the New Directions' set list, which means that they must have tamed their gossips. Or…oh god no. They haven't started. Oh god.

I'm not sure how long I sit there planning a few (seven) potential set lists, but the living room is lit by more than the ceiling lights now. The television is on that annoying blue light that appears after the movie has been off for about four hours and I stand to click off the television screen. When I turn, a pair of eyes are blinking at me from Brittany's shoulder. I nod a good morning to San and she, taking that as her cue, extricates herself from her girlfriend's sleeping death grip.

We move to the kitchen so I can make the coffee that will enable us to talk to one another without wanting to murder something and will help me see in colour because right now I can only see greys and everything is slightly blurry. I need glasses.

Santana accepts her mug with a very small smile (so she doesn't split her lip open again) and sips at it. I fling myself into one of the bar stools and pretend, unsuccessfully, that my hand doesn't hurt after a whole early morning of writing.

"What did you do?" she asks quietly, nodding to my hand.

"I punched your wall." I don't look at her. I don't want to. I can't, not without the tremors coming back and the urge to punch Mr Lopez's face in to increase tenfold. (I really need to come up with a mean nickname for Mr Lopez because 'Mr Lopez' is far too polite for that bastard.) (I'm quite fond of 'Dickhead Lopez'. Let me know.)

"Thanks for coming last night." I chance a little sidelong look at my friend and frown.

"What?"

"You know." She shrugs. "Helping me. It was cool of you." She is really quiet. Like, really quiet. And she hasn't flirted with me or threatened me with violence. I guess….oh gross. We're having a deep and meaningful conversation. _Suck it up, Corcoran. If that's what she needs then you will give that to her. It's _Santana.

"No worries." I gulp my coffee and barely manage to stop from spitting it out again but it burns a path down my oesophagus so, um, ouch. She smirks at me. I think she likes that she can smirk and it doesn't hurt. I mean, smirking only requires one side of your mouth and that means that she can smirk to her heart's content without hurting herself. "San?"

"Mm?"

"Where are you going to stay?" They may have discussed this last night but I missed it. "You can stay with Rachel but, well, I don't want you to kill my sister. I'd offer my place but it was small when it was just me and now Dave is staying with me." Before she can answer, I frown as I think of the logistics of housing Santana. "I guess I could rent out the apartment downstairs or maybe, well, there was a nice one with a big bedroom on that street-"

"Oh my god, are you serious?" I blink and look over at her. She's gaping at me and, when I frown, she shakes her head. "You are. Who _are_ you?" I just frown a little deeper. Maybe she has a concussion if she doesn't know who I am. "Is your mum, like, a celebrity or something? How do you have so much money?" I shrug.

"It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal? I overheard Berry talking to Q. You bought, like, all of her new wardrobe and you rent that apartment without another thought and that is a _nice_ apartment and you offer to rent one for me and," she shakes her head again. "Who the fuck are you? How do you have so much money?"

I try to play it off as nothing. "Jealous, are you?" I chuckle but she stares flatly at me and I sigh and return the stare. "You aren't going to leave this alone, are you?" No movement. She just stares at me. "Fine. All my grandparents are dead and they were all pretty rich. I'm their only grandkid, seeing as we didn't have contact with Rachel, so I got lots of money from them. That's been in a bank since I was like, I don't know, fourteen, fifteen, so it got some interest."

"How much?"

"Enough," I say with a frown. Money is no one's business. Especially because what I've said is only a part of why I have so much money. (And no, I can't give an exact figure. I don't know how much I have. But, if you must know, my grandparents were extremely rich.) The other parts are because my mother is very successful and after the point when she accepted that I wasn't Rachel, she kind of bought time away from me. She would give me money for my birthdays so she didn't have to get me a present and money so that I would like her boyfriends and money for school and money so I wouldn't bother her. And then her boyfriends decided that it was a good idea to buy my affections and would give me gifts so that I would stay out of the house so they could do god knows what. Not to mention the fact that I've had a job since I was sixteen.

Yeah, not all of that would go down very well. That's why I don't say it – it's too long of a story anyway and not very interesting.

"Okay, this is how it's going to go down." I shake myself out of my exhaustion induced mental rant about my monetary success and focus on Santana. Santana is speaking. Listen, Jo. "Either you tell me about your money or you tell me about your scars."

I didn't expect that. I mean, I _should _have, seeing as she told me to fix myself and I've been trying to but, well, it's hard when Shelby texts me every morning and night asking about her precious daughter and the fact that, yes, Rachel _is_ that much better than I am and, more recently, the fact that my friend was hit by her father. Anyway, I didn't expect it as a question.

"Well." I click my tongue and look deep into my coffee. Diversion tactics – not subtle, not effective, but I hope that they'll work.

"Come on, Jo. Give me something to work with."

"Work with?" I frown over at her and she shrugs.

"You know. So I can help." She growls and glares in the direction of the couch we abandoned. "Dammit," she murmurs.

"She's got you _whipped_," I chuckle. "You're all nice and fluffy. Like a marshmallow."

"Yeah whatever. So," she turns back to me and swears when her hair whips her in the face. "Money or scars?" And I am suddenly reminded of a very similar situation between myself and Rachel. She asked me – my dream or the bruises I had acquired. These people care. It's strange but, well, not really. I mean, it was bound to happen eventually. Karma and all that. Maybe it's time I offered something back. But not too much. I'll know where to draw the line when I draw the line.

"What do you want to know?" I ask slowly, watching my coffee swirl.

"Who did it?" She fires back immediately. I smile a little. Of course.

"Not that."

I can feel the weight of her gaze on my face as she deliberates. Finally, she relents. "Fine. Are you a millionaire?"

"I don't know. Next question."

"Do you like your family?" My hand clenches on the handle of the mug reflexively and I don't speak for a long time. Do I?

"I love Rachel," I say eventually. Naturally, she picks up on this.

"What about your mum? Or your dad?" I don't say anything. That's the line, I suppose. The line has been drawn. "You're annoying, you know that?"

"It's been said before."

She doesn't say anything for a long time and I wait on tenterhooks for her next question, certain it is going to be something like 'was it your father that hit you' or something like that and I've never been very good at lying to people that I actually respect or like. So, when she finally speaks, I feel like my heart is going to explode it is pounding so hard.

"Can I have some more coffee?" I think my heart just exploded. I hand her the coffee jug and wait for my chest to recover. "What's that in your pocket?" Maybe she is more intuitive than I expected. Maybe she realises that I am very much done with personal questions at the moment – that those are more than I can handle. Whatever the reason, this is a topic I'm happy with. It's safe.

"Sectionals ideas. Santana…" She peers up at me. "Schuester doesn't have a set list for you yet, does he?" When she shakes her head no I have to restrain myself from yelling and thereby waking up the other girls and the rest of the neighbourhood. "Wonderful."

"But, you have one for us, don't you?" I nod slowly and purse my lips thoughtfully.

"Santana," I start. She raises a brow. "If, hypothetically, someone were to ask to take over the New Directions from Mr Schuester… would you be okay with that?" Santana frowns.

"I don't know. I mean, he's our teacher. He supports us and, gross, loves us. I mean, does he wear too many vests? Yes. Does he come up with terrible lesson plans? Yes. But he's our teacher." I nod.

"Okay. Just wondering." And plotting. But mostly just wondering. (Wondering, that it, how I can get rid of Schuester without having to implement some of Sue Sylvester's more…creative…options.)

**Is there anything in particular you want to know about Jo? Something you think really needs to be addressed? Because I know what I want to write about, but I'd like to know what you want to know. Anyway, Shelby in the next chapter methinks but I'll have to see how it turns out. Happy reading, readers :)**


	34. Chapter 34

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Thirty- Four**

**Glee isn't mine.**

**Please enjoy. Oh, and I'm sorry that it's late.**

JO POV

Hiram stumbles into the kitchen at around nine and peers at Santana and me. I'm entertaining myself with a bowlful of Lucky Charms (Oh. My. God. I love marshmallows.) and Santana is trying to catch the cereal I flick her way in her mouth. I'm keeping the marshmallows so that if Britt wakes up in time, I can give her some of them but, well, if she doesn't they're all mine! (Insert maniacal laugh here.) (Nah, don't worry. I'll do it for you. Muhahahahahaha!) (Too much? I'll work on it.)

"Good morning Santana," he says carefully with a nod of his head and a smile. I'm impressed. Normally he needs a few litres of coffee to be that amicable in the mornings – turns out it's coffee or the reminder that the girl sitting in front of you has a busted lip because her father whacked her. (Personally, I'm a huge fan of coffee but, you know, whatever.)

(Oh and, in case you didn't notice, I've got my snark back in the gallons. I think it increases exponentially with each mug of coffee and I've had a few this morning already.)

Hiram's 'good morning' towards me sounds like a cat being run over but I accept it and hand him the coffee I made. I'm impressed when he swallows a gulp easily. I won't lie to you – the coffee I make tastes like what I assume horse urine would taste like. I always, _always_ buy my own coffee or else have someone that isn't me prepare it. And that isn't because I'm practically royalty and demand that the peasants do it for me – whoa, my snark is back with a vengeance – but rather, it's because making coffee is one of the few things that I am legitimately awful at doing. (Maybe that's why my mother never loved me…Kidding.)

After a few more sips, Hiram is looking as I expected he would after the first sip. Faintly ill and like he wants to gag.

"Jo, what did I say about going near the coffee machine?"

"Not to?" He dumps his coffee down the sink and then pours the coffee from the coffee maker immediately after it. He looks at his mug for a moment.

"Is it safe to drink from this again, or should I throw it out?"

"I'd say throw it out," Santana remarks. "Even the smell is making me sick." She sneers at me and I smirk. What a bitch. (I believe that means she is well on the road to recovery.)

"It's not that bad guys," I say, trying to reclaim some dignity.

"Oh my _god_. Did something die in here and vacate its bowels?" Rachel stamps into the kitchen and sits between me and Santana with her eyes still half-closed and a hand covering her nose and mouth.

"Morning, Short Stack." Rachel screams and leaps out of the stool, ducking behind me and away from Santana. "Whoa. Relax." If I didn't know any better, I would say that Santana actually looks offended that Rachel reacted like that. Santana leans her uninjured cheek against the palm of her hand, appearing to be nonchalant about this, and nods to Rachel. "Thanks for letting us crash here last night. That was cool." She swivels to look at Hiram and Leroy, who recently joined his husband and has tucked himself sleepily under his arm, and nods to them as well. "Thanks."

Rachel straightens and places her hands on her hips. "Well of course! We couldn't very well kick you out. Your were injured and tired and it would be very dangerous to have you driving, or even to have Jo drive you anywhere, particularly so late at night, not to mention that to do so would just be bad manners!" She takes another breath to continue but Quinn comes up behind her and, yawning, covers Rachel's mouth with her hand.

"Please just_ shut up._ You've already woken us up – let us have coffee first before you start on about proper," (insert yawn here) "hosting etiquette." She moves her hand up to Rachel's head and pats twice before toddling over to collapse onto the chair Rachel vacated. "Hey San," she greets sleepily. She then smooshes her cheek onto the cool marble and, as far as I can tell, goes back to sleep.

Leroy emerges from his cocoon (Hiram's arms) now suddenly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. (I cannot believe I just used that term. Kill me now.) "Good morning, girls!" His eyes scan the pile of bodies now spanning the entirety of the kitchen bench and he frowns. "I believe we are missing someone."

San shakes her head. "Britt needs a sleep in. Don't wake her up." And, remembering her manners, adds a "please." And, well, it isn't like we can exactly argue with the girl. She has a great whopping bruise over her cheek and a split lip. I have a feeling that she will be using that combination to great advantage for the next few days. We all nod easily enough, though Quinn's nod was more of a groan and a slapping of Santana's hand away from her eyeballs (she's trying to peel them open to wake Quinn up), and Hiram turns around with the coffee pot.

"Jo, what did you _do_?" He holds it up and I see that the coffee I made has successfully congealed to the bottom of the pot and that scraping it out with the spoon, um, _broke_ the spoon.

"Did you make coffee again, Jo?" Rachel asks disapprovingly. "I thought that might be what the stench was." I frown as convincingly as possible and roll my eyes.

"Oh come on. It wasn't that bad."

"That's because you have a stomach of steel and drink enough coffee that you no longer _have_ taste buds," Santana points out. I shrug. True dat.

Hiram throws the coffee pot into the bin and pulls a second pot out of the cupboard. "You are lucky that I got this one half-price, missy, otherwise you would be out of this house until you had another one for me. And good luck finding a store that opens before ten on a Sunday." He nods decisively and I can't help the small smile I send his way.

"Sorry?" I try and he grins at me, shakes his head, and starts preparing what smells like the most divine pot of coffee that has ever existed. Santana reaches over Quinn's head to steal my coffee mug.

"You are _not_ having another cup." I gape at her and, when I go to argue, she narrows her eyes. "No! You've already had four this morning." The kitchen comes to a screeching halt – Leroy stops cooking, Hiram stops brewing, Rachel stops rattling in the fridge for her healthy non-diary, organic, vegan breakfast foods – and I smile awkwardly.

"Jo," Leroy says. "That's very unhealthy." I shrug it off.

"It's not a big deal."

"Yes it is," my traitor sister says. "Are you aware that excessive amounts of caffeine can stop your heart? Also," she stops when Quinn raises her head to glare at her. "Yes Quinn?"

"Stop talking." Rachel looks like she is about to cry.

"Am I annoying you?" Quinn huffs a breath so the hair in her eyes moves.

"No. But when you speak, I need to listen and I'm super tired right now so I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't talk." She lays her head down again and I look over to catch Santana's eye. I wonder if Quinn is aware that she said a mildly romantic thing to Rachel? _When you speak, I need to listen._ That's sweet.

Oh no! My snark is failing. I need some coffee _stat._ While I sneakily try to obtain the coffee pot, Santana hops out of her chair.

"I'm going to wake Britt up." The moment she turns around, funnily enough, is the moment that a tall, heavily, sleepy somebody leans heavily against me, chin on my right shoulder, and drapes their arms over mine. I laugh.

"No need, San. Look who's awake." The head nuzzles into my neck and groans.

"Turn the lights off," Britt whines, hugging me tightly.

"Someone isn't a morning person," I tease. A groan confirms this and Santana snorts.

"Please. Neither are you. You just compensate with five cups of coffee."

"Ooh, compensate. Aren't we smart, dragging out three syllables when the rest of us can hardly function." I take a long drag from the coffee pot, my eyes rolling back into my head with bliss, and Hiram exclaims his surprise and disgust.

"Jo!" He snatches the pot out of my hand. "Shame on you." Weird, I don't feel shamed. Nope. Not at all. Nope. Not a little bitty bit. Just energised. Ready and raring to go. Pumped, you could say.

"Come on San, let's get you ready for the day." I grab her hand and spin her around. She gives a surprised laugh. "You're about my size." I stand and shift Brittany (who is still clinging to me like an adorable limpet) so she is clinging to my front and hoist her so I can carry her easily up the stairs.

"You aren't making a move on my girl, are you?" I hear Santana ask when we are approaching what used to be my room. It is only then that I realise that I am stroking Brittany's hair as I carry her. I can feel my (traitor) face blushing so I do what I do best: tell the truth in an unpleasant manner.

"No. But I _am_ far better looking so it would be understandable that she picks me over you." (Okay, maybe not the _truth_, strictly speaking. But I'm not making a move on her. My hands just _move_ sometimes.) (Just so you know, that isn't a good defence against molestation.) Santana just laughs – I hope her face is okay with all the laughing she's been doing – and ducks ahead of us into my room. She's not there when I come in so I assume she's gone into my bathroom. I lay Brittany on the bed and she curls up tightly into a ball but refused to let go of me. I pull myself out of my jumper and let her hold onto that while I find some clothes for them to wear.

Just so you know, I didn't move all my clothes with me so there are a few things left but very few things in my new apartment. I need to go shopping. If you recall, I came with only a few shirts of different colours. I think that if they wear the bottoms they are already wearing and pair them with a shirt of their choice, they won't be stylish but they will feel slightly more clean.

"Hey San," I move to the bathroom to ask her if she wants to wear this garishly yellow shirt – I don't know why I bought it, probably a brain aneurism or something – as a joke but as I go in I notice that her shirt is off and her chest is wet. "Whoa." Mind blank. A second later, I force myself to turn around and close my eyes tightly. "Sorry."

"No worries. Is that for me?" She presses against me – holy shit, that's a body – and I flinch away, my body tensing. It's not her fault. I'm just super wired thanks to the litre of caffeine and the fact that my eyes are closed. "You know, with your jumper off, I can see these." One finger traces across my shoulders and I remember (oh yeah, _now_ I remember) that I'm only wearing a singlet, seeing as I leapt out of bed to rescue my damsels. I suppose she's tracing some scars.

"Brittany has my jumper," is my wonderful excuse. She just hums and takes the yellow shirt from me.

"This is not my colour but Britt will wear this. Do you have a red?" I nod and walk out of the bathroom—only to walk smack bang into the wall. Oh yeah, my eyes are closed. I rip my eyelids open (figuratively) and run out of the bathroom. Brittany is waking up so I take my jumper back and put it on before she can see my scars. Brittany, I hope, will _never_ see my scars.

I grab the red shirt and fling it through the open doorway to Santana. Brittany starts taking her clothes off _in_ my bedroom and walks, I presume, starkers into the bathroom to join her girlfriend. I cough, simultaneously covering my eyes with both hands. _Oh Jesus Christ. _

"Right-o then. I'll just, um, leave."

"Need me to walk you to the door so you don't walk into anything else?" Santana asks. I can _hear_ the bitch smiling. Mocking me. I shake my head vigorously and sprint out of my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I guess that I am supremely red-faced because a wild Quinn appears and grins sleepily at my expression.

"Are they 'utilising' your room?" I just nod. "Yeah, they do that." And then she disappears into Rachel's room. _Thanks a lot, Quinn. That was really helpful._ Rachel appears a few minutes later and I call her over.

"Hey, Rach, can you just go in and see that Brittany is awake?" Silly girl. She doesn't even question why I'm not going to go in there. She nods and beams at me, striding into the room. Exactly four seconds later, she races out again, hands covering her eyes.

"They were_ naked_, Jo!" I smirk.

"Oh, so they are still going at it. Good to know." She sends me a withering glare – ooh, I'm so scared – and storms off to her room, no doubt to stutter embarrassingly around her Quinn. I wander downstairs to collect my cereal and to wait for my girls to be ready so I can drive them to Brittany's house. That's what they wanted to do, right?

SANTANA POV

"Thanks, Jo!" Brittany blows a kiss to Jo, who rolls her eyes at me when I give her the finger, and smiles at Britt-Britt. Then she pulls out a book – surprise, surprise, Jo is reading – and settles into the front seat of the car. I guess she's waiting until we're done here so she can drive us back to Berry's. I'd never say this out aloud but Jo…she's a one of a kind. She's a special kind of person. Messed up, for sure, but she moves past that somehow to be super cool.

"San?" I look away from the car to smile at Brittany. "Are you going to stand there forever?" I shrug. "Are you scared?" I shrug again, which is as close to a 'yes' as I will say to that. Britt understands. She winds her hand into mine and pressed a chaste kiss to my lips. I lean my forehead into her neck and breathe in Brittany. Just Brittany.

"Still scared?" She asks and I can't help but laugh.

"A few more minutes?" She throws her arms around me and hugs me tightly.

"'Kay."

A few minutes later, we are standing right outside the door. "Britt?" She smiles at me. "Do you remember our first date?"

"When I was seven and you were six and you made me a cupcake?" I shake my head. "When we were eight and you took me to the movies and you let me have as many candies as I wanted because your Mami and Papi gave you fifty dollars for your birthday and you said all you wanted to do was spend it on me?"

I blink. "Those…no. Those aren't the first dates I remember." My gaze falls back to the front door step until she tilts my chin up.

"They're the dates I remember, Sanny."

"Really? Because I remember coming here and picking you up and there was a boy hanging off me and the food was terrible and he was trying to feel me up the whole time and I was only thinking of you and you were sick and it was a complete disaster." I look up at her with wide eyes. Why can't she see what I'm saying? "Britt…should we even do this? I've been terrible to you." I look sideways to the door. "I mean, why tell your parents if, you know, this might not even work out? Jesus Christ, Britt. It's not _supposed_ to work out. We're both _girls_," I hiss. "And I'm not sure-"

She cuts me off with a particularly perfect kiss and then pulls away, replacing her mouth with her hand. "Please stop. Don't say anything unless you have something nice to say," she says firmly. I love that. It's a childish saying but…she's right. She's _always_ right. "I love you and you love me. Why wouldn't we tell my parents?"

"And they'll be fine with it?" Brittany wavers for the first time today.

"I think so." She reaches for my hand again. "And if they aren't, we still have Quinn and Rachel and Rachel's daddies and Jo. And Dave." I nod. "I love you, Sanny."

"I love you, Britt." Admittedly, I say it more quietly than she does but it doesn't seem to bother her. Her eyes light up. It's cheesy, but mine do as well. My heart swells and it feels like it's three times as hard to pump blood through my body and I feel like nothing can go wrong every time she says it to me. She loves me. What can ruin that?

"Come on, San. Let's go in." Britt throws the door open and pulls me into her house. "Mom? Dad?" There are voices in the living room, so Brittany tugs us in that direction. They are sitting in front of the television and they beam up at their daughter, and at me, instantly.

"Hello, my favourite child!" There is a faint 'hey!' from Brittany's sister's room (Maddy – she's seven) and Brittany's dad shakes his head. "Can't get away with anything, can I?" Britt dances over to him and plops on his lap, kissing his forehead, before diving over to her mother and doing the same. Then she returns to me. (I like the sound of that. She returns to me.)

"Mom, Dad?" They raise their brows at each other due to Britt's serious tone and mute the television.

"Yes, Britt?"

"You might want to sit down." They nod seriously, ignoring the fact that they are already sitting, because that's just how Brittany has always introduced serious topics. We think she saw it a few times on soap operas and it kind of stuck in her mind and now that's what she says, whether they are sitting or not. It's adorable.

"What's up, buttercup?" Brittany's dad quips. I want to smile but, when I try, my lip twinges and I hiss with pain. My head jerks up – I've had it mostly lowered this whole time – and Britt's mom cries out.

"Sweetie!" She stands and clasps my head, tilting it this way and that to see it better in the light. "What on earth happened to you?" I pull gently away from her and offer a slightly smile.

"That's, um." Britt squeezes my hand when I falter. "That's what we want to talk to you about." Karen – Mrs Pierce – sits on George's – Mr Pierce – armrest.

"Well. Go on then, girls."

Brittany dives straight in. (Mind the pun.) And I mean, _straight _in. No messing around. "I'm in love with Santana and she's in love with me and her papi caught us having sweet lady kisses and he hit her and I wanted to make sure that you were okay with us loving each other and you weren't going to hit me because I'd rather you didn't and if you want to then we are going to stay with the Berry family until you calm down."

The Pierce's blink as they try to take in the information their daughter gave them. George sits further upright in his chair and holds up a hand, as if for Britt to slow down.

"Now hold on," George says. "You're telling us that you two," his fingers flicks between us, "are in love?" We nod. "And you two aren't…married?" He questions. Frowning, we shake our heads. "I see."

Strangely enough, George then digs into his pocket and, sighing and rifling through his wallet, hands over ten dollars to his wife, which she tucks into her own pocket.

"Mom? Dad? Are you okay with that?" Karen smiles at Brittany.

"Of course we're alright with this, sweetie. Your dad just owed me a little cash because he said you wouldn't tell us until after you were married. I knew that you would want us at your wedding though." She stands and pecks Britt on the forehead, and then me. Then she strokes my bruise very lightly. "Now, Santana," she frowns. "About this. I suppose your family wasn't too happy about the news?" I shake my head silently. "Would you like to stay with us for a little while, at least until your folks calm down?" I nod – again, silently. She beams at me. "Wonderful! Hungry, girls?" And with that, she is gone into the kitchen.

Brittany's dad hoists himself out of his chair and claps me on the shoulder. "Let's have a little chat, shall we?" And suddenly, I am struck by mortal terror. Shakily, I nod my head and manage a tiny smile. He walks me around the corner and away from Brittany before smiling at me.

"Ah, Santana." He cups my face, as Karen had, and his eyes turn sad as he sees the bruise and the split lip. "I don't want my Brittany to ever think that we will hurt her and it hurts me that your folks don't understand that it's their job to love you no matter what. You're a part of this family, you know that, don't you?" I nod hesitantly but I know that it is one hundred percent true. I've spent more Christmases here and celebrated more birthdays than I have with my biological family. "That being said," he rearranges his expression to be slightly more threatening, "Brittany is my favourite daughter and I love her very much. If you hurt her…" He waggles his finger threateningly. "You won't like the consequences. Understood?" I nod quickly and he smiles. "Good, good. Now, to give the same talk to Brittany. I'd hate for her to hurt you." He sends me a wink and saunters away to talk to Britt. I take a moment to sag against the wall, suddenly boneless.

"Hi Santana." Maddy appears at my side and I jump, terrified.

"Oh. Hey Maddy." I crouch down to her level and she jabs me in the cheek. Recoiling, I rub my cheek until it isn't sore.

"Does that hurt?" She enquires and I roll my eyes.

"Yes. Yes it does."

"Did it hurt when I poked it?"

"Yeah, it did." I had to restrain from swearing – from saying words you ain't ever heard before. _Yes_ it hurt.

"Who did it to you?" I pause. Should I tell her?

"It was my dad," I say finally.

"Oh." She purses her lips and starts digging around in her pockets. She eventually pulls out a beaded bracelet and hands it to me solemnly. I take it with equal solemnity and she pats my hand. "I hope you feel better." And then she wanders off, presumably to join the family. I sit on the floor. I think I'm just going to sit here for a little while and think.

I mean, wasn't this a little too…easy? Isn't coming out supposed to be heartache and sadness and pain and fear? Sure, my papi hit me but Britt just takes my hand and everything is all right again. Oh god, I'm turning into the sappiest of all sappy people. I shake my head vigorously and stand.

I need to find Britt. Because I don't think I care that it wasn't hard. I just want to stand with my girlfriend and talk to her family.

QUINN POV

Rachel has been practicing her vocal scales for twenty minutes now. I can't take much more. I'm not even allowed to be in the same room so, while she's been in her music room, I've been trying to entertain myself in her room but I keep stopping myself from opening drawers or doors because, you know, that's just rude. And, since Rachel is a complete neat freak, I have next to nothing to entertain myself with.

I'm going downstairs.

Barely a moment downstairs and I've been cornered by Rachel's dads. "Hello, Quinn," says Leroy. I smile.

"Hi, Mr Berry, Mr Berry." They wave away my 'Mr Berry's as per usual and usher me to a seat. Then they sit in the couch opposite and lean forward so their elbows are resting on their knees. I feel like I'm about to be interrogated.

"You've been over a lot lately, Quinn," Hiram begins. I squint at him. Is this a bad thing?

"I'm…sorry?" Leroy rushes to cuff his husband over the ear and reassure me.

"No, no. Not at all. We _love_ having you. We love having _all_ of you girls over. It's so nice that Rachel's inviting people over. And I so love cooking for all of you." He would have kept going, no doubt about it, but Hiram takes over.

"_Quinn_," he says sharply, as if reminding Leroy what they were here to talk about in the first place. Leroy jerks sharply and then smiles at me. "We actually wanted to ask you if everything was all right at home. You have been over _quite_ a lot."

Oh. Honesty or the typical Fabray deflection? Let's try something new, shall we? Honesty. "I…don't live at home, sir. I've been living with Santana since the start of the summer."

Leroy and Hiram both nod at me and quickly exchange a look. A look, laden with questions and answers. You _know_ that a marriage is working if you can practically read the mind of your partner (and if, you know, you still love one another and all that and it's not like you can read their mind and you know that they are thinking that they want to kill you or that they hate you…)

"I see. Considering, then, that Santana's home life is _troubled_ at the moment," Hiram says delicately, "where were you thinking of staying?"

"Oh." I don't slump. I've been bred not to and that good breeding holds firm in the face of such a concept. I can't go home – I just _can't_. "I hadn't thought of that."

Leroy and Hiram exchange another look. "Well, Quinn," Leroy starts.

"If you need a bed," Hiram continues.

"We have a spare one," Leroy finishes. The pair smile kindly at me and, to be honest (I'm going with that as my theme for today, I think) my good breeding finally fails me and I gape at them.

"But…why?"

"Why what, Quinn?"

"Why…" I drop my eyes to the floor. Do I want to ask? Do I want the answer? "Why are you so nice to me?" I'm suddenly filled with an anger I've felt before – an anger that Mercedes once told me was actually hurt. Why can't _my_ parents love each other, love me? Why can't _my_ parents be sane, functional, caring people? And, in continuing with my theme of honesty, I go about honestly ruining any chance I have of the Berry's keeping me.

"Has Rachel told you who I am? I'm the _Queen Bitch._ I'm Head Cheerio and I'm a terrible person. I slapped Jo in the face on her first week here. Then I had her beaten up, which was an accident, but I still did it. And then I threw a slushie at her when she saved me from Puck. I've bullied your daughter for years; she was slushied every day in freshman year because of me! I was _pregnant_!"

My crying is quiet. It had to be. Fabray's don't cry. This way, it doesn't impede or affect my ability to talk at all but I am well aware that I look sufficiently miserable. And ugly. I go all blotchy and red when I cry. I go to wipe my face but a handkerchief is there already.

"Quinn," Hiram says, "it's okay. Rachel told us all of this already." I look up at him.

"She did?" They nod.

"Our baby girl comes home covered in some ice drink they should have banned years ago and you think we don't ask?"

"And when she cries herself to sleep because she doesn't think she's beautiful or talented because the most popular girl in school keeps putting her down – that hurts us." Oh god. Now I'm crying even harder.

"But she's forgiven you, Quinn. She said that you gave the most awkward, beautiful speech and she had to forgive you."

"And if our daughter forgives you, then we forgive you." They nod simultaneously and I, disgustingly, blow my nose as quietly as I can.

"I don't understand," I admit. "You aren't angry with me?"

"Oh Quinn, we love you." Leroy pats my knee gently. "We love that you're friends with Rachel – it just sucks that it took so long for you two to get there." He beams and I give a little hiccup laugh.

"It took a little while for me to get over myself, I guess." Hiram nods and Leroy hits him again. "I'm really sorry." They nod again and Hiram leans closer to me. He looks very much like a psychologist.

"Quinn, we didn't ask you confess to us your sins or to apologise. We wanted to talk to you about your home life." I suck in a breath and, reaching out, pull the pillow behind me onto my lap. Clenching the corners of it, I nod. I'm ready.

"But first," Leroy interjects, "I just want to know a few things. Quinn, how did you feel when you hurt Rachel?" He looks every inch the intimidating father, despite his diminutive size and I gulp.

"I'm so sorry about it. Now, and then when I did it I was so ashamed but I couldn't stop and the words would just come out and I couldn't stop them. She's really great, sir, and I'm just…I'm so sorry." Leroy nods.

"And how did you feel when you slapped Jo?"

"I," I drop my eyes again and hug the pillow very tightly to my stomach in an effort to fill the void that suddenly opened. I hate remembering that I did that. I still can't believe that I did that. "I felt sick. Like I was going to throw up. I wanted so badly not to have done it." The words are empty – they can't possibly show _how_ badly I want to take it back.

Now Hiram interjects. I suppose he heard something in my words that I hadn't meant to say because what he says is: "Quinn, I understand that this is a difficult topic to discuss but—has a member of your family ever abused you?"

I shut my eyes. Clench them tightly shut. I know that the rest of my face is entirely impassive. It's a trick I learnt when I was eight and I wanted to pretend that my parents weren't fighting or drinking or badmouthing the family down the street. What was the question? _Has a member of your family ever abused you?_ I nod, very faintly.

"I see," he rumbles. Calmly. Softly. "Was it your father?" I nod again. "Would you like to talk about it?" Would I? I sit very still and think about it for a while. The men don't speak or excuse me – they are strangely patient. Finally, I speak. Honesty…right? It's got to bring me something good. Besides, I _really_ don't want to go back there.

"Finn told them I was pregnant. You know Finn. He's a little _incredibly_ stupid sometimes. He sang 'Having My Baby' to me at a dinner with my parents. My dad kicked me out. Santana and I have that in common, I suppose." I stop and suck in a deep breath. I can feel my eyebrows dip low and I start to fiddle with the little sequins on the pillow. "I went back that night," I confess. "I snuck out of Finn's house when he and his mum were asleep. I just wanted to _talk_ to them but dad – Russell – wouldn't see me. So I left." I shrug.

Leroy, I can tell without looking, isn't doing well and I haven't even begun the bad part. I can see he is clutching Hiram's shirt sleeve. Hiram has placed his hand gently over Leroy's but he is biting his lip so he doesn't interrupt. I shouldn't draw this out.

"When I found out that she was a perfect baby girl I went back to them. I wanted to tell them. I _wanted_ them to know." My left hand comes up and I swipe quickly at my cheek. Yep – just as I thought. I'm crying.

"I wanted them to know they had a healthy little granddaughter and that she was going to a good family. My dad was there and," my hands clench almost violently on the pillow. "He tried to kill her," I whisper.

Leroy and Hiram react in similar ways. They both tense and try to relax back into their chairs. In other words, they have to restrain themselves and each other from…from what? Killing him? Frightening me? Maybe they just want to finish listening to my story.

"He was drunk." I can't speak much louder than I am at the moment, I find. "The moment he saw me, he started yelling at me and swearing. I thought that if I could just tell him, show him the sonogram, then he would reconsider. He's my _father_," I say right to them. Don't they understand? Would they have kicked Rachel out if it had happened to her? I can't imagine a world in which they would do that.

"He hit me," I murmur tonelessly. "I fell."

Hiram tugs me until I am standing and moves me to the couch so they can hug me. "Sweetie, I am so sorry."

"She was fine but I was _so worried._" I wipe my cheek again and laugh. "I can't believe I thought he would, what, be nice? Every single time I've disappointed him, he's hit me. Ever since I turned thirteen. I've been the most popular, the smartest, the most athletic, _everything_. I did everything for him and the most I ever got from him was a 'good job'."

We sit there together for a good fifteen minutes. I'm soothed by Rachel's singing upstairs and by the Berry men's presences beside me. I can't believe I told them that. I think I'm in shock.

"Quinn?" Leroy murmurs. This is it. This is when they tell me I can't stay here, that I am too messed up for their perfect family. "Would you like to have a look at the spare room? You can decorate it however you would like."

**Okay, my pretties. What did you think? There is a lot more coming in the next chapter, which is bound to be exciting and I PROMISE you some Shelby action. Also, some of you have commented on the lack of 'love' towards Jo, which is also something I am working on but it has to be organic and Jo is such a bitch that it's proving to be quite a Herculean task. Anywho, I would love to know what you think and what you would like to see, even if it is just a bit of dialogue you want to challenge me to include or an interaction, et cetera. I promise you another chapter soon but I thought I would get this one up because I'm going away for a week and I shan't have time to post it for a while. As always: happy reading, readers :)**


	35. Chapter 35

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Thirty-Five**

**Glee isn't mine.**

**This chapter is dedicated to Jimena, whose review made me laugh for quite some time. Also, to everyone else who reviewed. Merry Christmas all :) Please enjoy xx (Also, just so you know, it's my birthday today – 24****th**** of December – so this is a highly auspicious day for posting a new chapter. Additionally, this also means that all of you have to review. It's a requirement. Toodles!) (Second additional point is that I got this amazing chair for my birthday so I'm writing all of this chapter right now and it's going really well because this chair is phenomenal.) (Third point – my birthday is Alice in Wonderland themed. You should be jealous.)**

JO POV

Turns out that Brittany's parents are totally fine with Santana and Brittany being together, which is great. Really great. I couldn't be happier for them. (False. I could be happier for them – for instance, if they suddenly won the 62 million dollar lottery, or if Brittany finally saw a unicorn, et cetera.) Santana comes back to the car bouncing with excitement at every step and practically vomiting rainbows of joy. I have her confused with Brittany for a second, but then I see Brittany and she is four more times excited than Santana and the natural order of the universe is restored.

Okay, I know that it sounds like I'm not happy for them but I really am. _Really_, I am. It's just that my natural tone is sarcasm – it's my first language people. Also, I'm not used to baring emotions to people so I say hilarious and witty things rather than truthful, honest, you know touchy-feely crap.

Anyway, I agree to help Santana move her things to Brittany's house – boy was _that_ a mistake. I have no idea why I agreed to do that. I should have known that it would involve sneaking and clothes. _Lots_ of clothes. Seriously – I feel like I am drowning in the amount of clothes that surround me, that Santana is flinging at me from her closet.

"Fuck!" Santana turns at my exclamation and hisses at me to stay quiet (she doesn't know when her dad is coming back) and I stubbornly swear again. "Fuck that, Santana. Do you know how much that fucking hurt? Fuck!" (Sometimes I add swear words just to antagonise people) I rub my forehead. "You hit me in the head with a shoe, San. I'm probably bleeding." I pull my hand down to check and inspect my fingers, put them back to the wound site and check again. "Am I bleeding?"

She strides over (I can practically feel her rolling her eyes) and grabs my hand, ripping it away from my forehead so that she can inspect the site. She ums and ahs over it for a minute before jabbing me hard with her finger. I pull away and slap her hand away from me, recoiling. She sneers at my wounded expression. What. A. Bitch.

"Oh stop being such a baby, Jo. You're fine. Now stop complaining and start packing." I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at her and, avoiding her pile of 'fucking hot clothes' (which I have dubbed the pile of 'naughty seductive clothes'), I start folding her shirts.

After a minute she slows what she is doing and glares at me. "What are you doing?"

"Folding."

"Ugh, no." She strides over to me again and grabs a handful of clothes, shoving them into the bottom of the bag. Then she hands the bag to me. When I don't take it, she thrusts it into my hand. "Come on Jo, just pack. We don't have much time."

Feeling my soul fragment with every unfolded item I unceremoniously stuff into the bag, I continue to work her way. Finally, Santana is done and I look at the four bulging bags in the centre of her room.

"And you want me to help you get these down that flimsy tree of yours – which, may I remind you, I almost died climbing up?" She nods, arms crossed like that will help convince me or intimidate me. "No. No way. I'm not risking my neck – _literally_ my neck – to help you do something stupid like that when there are perfectly serviceable stairs right outside your door. "

And with that, I fling the door open dramatically and attempt a storm out but, laden with two bags as I am, I get stuck in the doorway and it takes a second of seriously clever manoeuvring to get out.

After a moment (during which she was probably laughing at me) Santana follows me out the bedroom door and we make it to my car with no troubles. Actually, that's where the trouble begins. My car is a nice size; I would even go so far as to say it is a very decently sized car. However, with the way that Santana packs, we are never going to fit the bags in my car.

"Santana!" She pauses, back straining against the suitcase she is currently attempting to fit into the car. "Move." Strangely quiet and obedient for once, Santana moves. I crack my neck and the joints in my fingers slowly and thoughtfully as I figure out how to fit the bags in. "Okay," I say with a nod of my head. "Let's do this."

Six and a half minutes later we are in the car and on our way to Brittany's. I'm feeling good. Once again, I have proven my immense genius. I'm kidding. It's just been a good day (and I'm still slightly invigorated from that pot 'o coffee).

And so, naturally, the universe conspires against me and ruins it for me.

We arrive at Brittany's and start to unpack – that's fine. We finish unpacking and Brittany and Santana begin to haul her bags into the house and that is when my phone starts ringing. I freak out. Why? Possibly because the last time my phone rang, it was my best friends calling because they were being attacked by a homophobic dick-wad. I think I may be slightly afraid of phones now…

"Answer your phone, idiot." I shake my head no so, naturally, Santana snatches the mobile from me and answers the call. "Hello, Jo Corcoran's phone." She listens for a moment before handing the phone to me with a simple, "someone called Shelby. Come inside whenever."

I think I must have nodded because Santana and Brittany leave and I stare at the phone for a long moment before putting it up to my ear. "Hello?"

"Josephine! Finally. I though we might have been disconnected." Shelby tuts and then, without giving me time to make an excuse or greet her, moves on. "Was that your girlfriend?" Her words are slightly cold but I can tell that she is making an effort to remain polite and, to be honest, it's more than she's done in a while for me so I'll take that. I'll take anything I can get from her. She _is_ my mother. (I think Rachel's upbeat, positive attitude has rubbed off on me. I'm becoming…_nice_.)

"No. That was Santana. She's just a friend." Shelby hums on her side of the phone and I wait for her to speak. When she doesn't start to talk immediately, I begin to wander down the street. There is a tiny little bubble of hope in my stomach – maybe, just maybe, she's called just to talk to me. "Was there something that you wanted, Shelby?"

"Oh no. Not really." I feel a responding smile grow. She _does_ just want to talk to me! "I just wanted to tell you that I'm so pleased with you and proud of your hard work." I blink. Wow. I don't think she's ever told me that before. I guess Leroy or Hiram must have told her all about my tutoring. "And to tell you that, since you are doing so well, I've decided to come down sometime next week to see Rachel. Okay then, well, I have to go now." And she hangs up.

I don't know how long I stand there for but it is Brittany who comes to find me.

"Hey Jo," she starts.

"Hey Britt." I automatically respond. The words feel heavy though, and I almost don't remember to open my mouth to say them.

"Mom wants to know if you want to come in for dinner." I consider the invitation for a moment before shaking my head. I don't think I'll ever be hungry again.

'_I've decided to come down sometime next week to see Rachel.'_ The words play over and over in my head. This isn't good. Oh, sure, the conversation was pleasant enough, especially while I thought that she was actually proud of me and not of the fake brainwashing I've supposedly been doing to her actual favourite daughter, but I won't kid myself. She hasn't changed at all and this is a very bad thing that is about to happen. No matter what happens, it won't turn out well. Great. (Sarcasm.)

"Jo?" Oh. Brittany's still here. I vaguely realise that I'm patting her shoulder and then that I smile at Santana who is standing a pace and a half behind her girlfriend before getting into my car. God, that would have been ghastly. Have you ever been given a half-smile by someone who is distracted? They are so gross. They are like, well, this little upturn of the lip in a fleeting movement and it's sort of like a less aggressive snarl – it's _not_ attractive.

Anyway, there are other, more important, things to worry about than my face when I smile (unattractive as it may be). I have to worry about Shelby. And Rachel. And Rachel's reaction to Shelby. And Shelby's reaction to Rachel. And my reaction to Rachel and Shelby together, which may not be pretty. Oh god…

SANTANA POV

"Was that weird for you, Britt?" Jo just left after patting Brittany and giving me the _weirdest_ smile. My girl nods and I take her hand for a second, squeeze, and let go again. I'm trying my best to be good for her, but there are some things I still need to work on. I mean, now that some people know that when I take Britt's hand it's because I love her, it feels like_ everyone_ knows. I'm just not used to it yet. Plus, there is this creepy guy with a telescope that lives opposite Britt's house and she tells me that it's because he likes the stars but I don't trust him.

Britt smiles at me when she realises that I'm glaring at his house and I put Jo and her weirdness (and that guy) out of my mind. Jo is clever and strong; she'll be fine. And that guy…I'm probably just being paranoid.

I walk Britt back into her house and am surrounded instantly with an atmosphere I wish had been at Casa Lopez. It is warm and loving and smells delicious. I've only ever found this feeling in two places – here, with Brittany in her house, and strangely enough at Berry's house. I think it has something to do with the amount of baking that goes on there. I guess, well, I wouldn't really have ever wanted this feeling at my house because then Brittany's home wouldn't have been as special. Brittany – yes. Her home – maybe not.

Still, do I wish that my family had been a little more like Brittany's? That they'd actually loved me? Yeah. I do. But I love this – Sunday at the Pierce's is family night and, well, I'm family now so I get the red piece, Brittany is yellow, Daddy Pierce is blue, Mom Pierce is white, and Child Pierce is pink. I roll first. (Just so you bitches know, I totally won the first game. And I would have won all the other games but Britt told me to let her sister win a few because she throws some seriously epic tantrums.)

It isn't until the following weekend that Brittany rolls over in bed and, resting her chin on my shoulder, frowns at me.

"What's up, Britt?" She just keeps frowning so I wait. I know Britt. She'll take a little while to figure out how to say what she wants to say and who to phrase it perfectly.

"San?" I will now say that I am nervous and antsy. She sounds sad. Oh god. What have I done wrong? I move so I am sitting up against the headboard and take one of Brittany's hands. I tug her gently so I can hold her against my side. I run through everything that has happened this week and urgently try to figure out what I've done wrong so that I can fix it. I'm about to apologise for wanting to sleep when she wanted to watch the Fox and the House the other night when she says, "San, I'm worried about Jo."

I relax—thank god. Britt isn't breaking up with me. I didn't do anything wrong. And thank god she isn't hurt. Or upset about anything big. Then I tense again. I think everyone knows that Brittany sees things that other people don't or can't and it's stupid not to listen to her. And if she's worried about Jo – Jo, who always tries to hide everything bad from Brittany because she loves her – then I should be worried as well. Fuck.

"Why are you worried about Jo, Britt?"

"Have you _seen_ her?" She asks. I shake my head no. "She's lost weight and she's not happy in class and she cancelled movie night on Saturday even though we were all free and I don't think she's slept in days." Britt grips my pyjama top tightly and snuggles closer. I feel her pouting on my chest and shun the dirty thoughts. "I'm really worried, San."

I stroke her hair off her face and smile. "Well then, we'll just have to have a little chat with her, won't we?"

Britt, reassured, falls asleep straight away. I don't; I can't. Now that Brittany has brought it up, I can't help but rethink everything in the last week that has happened – for the second time tonight. Admittedly, I'm looking for something different. Ever since that phone call she's been acting really strange, so I suppose that's when all this started. Jo's been missing from lunch every day, she's not focused in Glee, she looks ill all the time with pale skin and deep purple bags under her eyes, and Britt is right that she's lost weight. She looks awful. How on earth could I have missed it?

I don't like the answer that comes to mind but it's right. Brittany. I didn't notice because Brittany is always on her mind. It's not a bad thing but…

Britt brushes her lips over my collarbone and sleepily places her hand over my face. "Stop thinking, Sanny. Go to sleep," she groans. I take her hand and her advice. I'll talk to Jo in the morning.

JO POV  
I wish I have my own theme music. That would make sneaking around the place and avoiding people while intensely thinking a hell of a lot more fun.

SANTANA POV

I don't know how she does it. I mean, I can see Jo sitting there and I can hear her talking to Britt and helping her with the English homework but it's like my eyes just slip over her when I try and focus on her. I think she's magic. Fuck that – she's drugged us all. That is the only reasonable conclusion.

When I try and grab her and talk to her after class, she slips away and into the horde of unwashed masses. Brittany frowns after her and shakes her head.

"It's not going to work your way, Sanny. She just won't listen to us." I nod. "We need to do this my way." I start to nod and then stop.

"What's your way, Britt?" She leans towards me and whispers a brilliant plan in my ear, which I tentatively put on hold. "Maybe. It's a good plan," I rush to say when she pouts (which makes her laugh for some reason), "but maybe save it as a last resort." She nods, thankfully, and we stroll off to the next class together. It's Maths with Quinn so Jo is, of course, tutoring Puck and, therefore, is nowhere to be seen.

Quinn greets us with a nod, not quite looking at us, and I groan. "Not you too." She frowns – in that way of hers that says 'tell me what you mean or die' which makes me fucking love her (as a friend, you dirty-minded freaks) – and I shrug. "Jo's being weird. And now you're sitting there all distant and shit? Not cool." I grab my nail file and start working on perfection.

"Jo's being weird?" Brittany nods. I think I'll let her tell Quinn all about it while I catch up on sleep that I missed last night while doing…other things.

"San." Bitch Quinn jabs me in the shoulder and raises one brow.

"Does that," I point at her eyebrow and smirk, "turn people on?" She blushes and I nod. "Yeah it does. Work it girl." She rolls her eyes but can't deny that she wants to smile. "Smile, bitch. You know you want to." I jab her in the cheek – payback! – and she slaps my hand away.

"Enough! I was just saying that it's lunch time and if you want to find Jo then you'd better start looking. But whatever, bitch." And with that, she swings her bag into me, pushing me to the floor and probably breaking my wrist into a billion pieces. For some reason, it doesn't hurt as much as it should and Brittany tells me I probably just bruised it. I don't think so. That bitch fucking wounded me.

Anyway, I'm limping around the campus all lunch time (why am I limping? Because I'm wounded. Limping is necessary. Plus, people give all kinds of free crap to wounded people) and Jo is nowhere to be found. That bitch is insane. I mean we have looked _everywhere_. Let me put it this way – if there were ever a hide-and-go-seek world competition, Jo would win it. Hands down. No doubt about it. We have been looking for _ages._ She's like a sneaky ninja; she's the sneakiest ninja that has ever existed.

"She's like a ninja!" Britt sighs as she sits on a bench. "Sanny, we'll never find her." Looking around quickly, and seeing that no one is around, I give her a quick peck on the lips.

"We'll find her. Don't worry. And if we don't, then we'll do your plan, kay?" She nods but I can tell that she's still miserable so I put out my hand, wiggling the fingers, and she twines our hands together. I go to pull her up but she pulls me down to her lap and hugs me tightly to her. I don't bother struggling – no one can see us, right? And she's so strong and soft and awesome and… you don't really want to hear the rest of these thoughts. Let's just say that they become slightly R rated and explicit and totally awesome but they're about _my_ Britt and no one gets to know anything about Britt-Britt but me.

"Come on." Britt stands and we link pinkies. "Let's go to some more classes, let Jo ignore us the whole time, and then get whatever is bothering her out of her at Glee." We walk in silence until Britt comes up with this gem.

"There's something inside of her? Does she need help getting it out?" _Yeah, that stick up her ass that is making her into a bitch._ This is why I love Britt. She takes everything so literally sometimes.

Anyway, thanks to that conversation, Britt keeps asking Jo what she has inside of her and how she can help her get it out – Jo, with her eyes of fire, is apparently blaming me for this train of thought. I did nothing except for encourage this to the extreme. But, like I thought, Jo manages to dodge us like a pro until Glee – where we corner her and begin our interrogation.

"What the fuck is up with you, Jo?" Her deflection tactics begin.

"San, it's not a big deal. Can we just sit down?" Her pleading face begins and Brittany steps forward, a scowl on her face.

"Listen missy – you'd better tell us what you know or we'll start with the rough stuff." That gets a bit of attention from people like Wheezy and Lady Face and I turn to Brittany, frowning.

"Are you the bad cop, Britt?" She nods, now smiling. I lean in to whisper in her ear. "I thought I was bad cop. You know, because I'm totally a bitch." And she starts pouting. Great. "No, no, that's okay. You can be bad cop today." She beams at me and then her smile disappears into another scowl as we turn back to Jo.

"Look, Jo. We just want to talk." I try to smile kindly but I think it comes out a bit predatory. I'm not used to being…nice. Brittany, lacking a desk to slap, hits her fist onto her palm.

"Tell us what we want to know, Corcoran!" Jo grins at my girl and shakes her head.

"You guys are getting super worked up over this. Look," she shrugs. "It's not a big deal, okay?" Even as she says it, I can see her eyes flickering which means that it is totally a big deal. What a liar. "Okay, you want to know what's going on?" We both nod. "Alright, the truth is that-"

"Alright, everyone out!" Damn you Sue Sylvester! She's standing there, hands on hip, bullhorn blaring in out ears. Rachel screeches and covers her ears – no doubt competlely prepared to start attacking Coach Sue about the dangers of loud noises in enclosed spaces and the affect it will have on her ears. "Your intensely hair-gelled, simpleton of a teacher has been suspended. You can send gift baskets to myself and your Glee advisor Jo Corcoran. Now get out of my school." As she turns and strides away down the hallway, making sure that the door slams as loudly as possible, we all turn back to Jo. She is looking, and rightly so, a mite terrified.

"So that's what this was all about? You were freaking out because you didn't know how we'd react to you stabbing Mr Schuester in the back?"

"How _dare_ you?" Kurt squeals. Mercedes makes a disgusted face – she's good at that. Brittany just looks disappointed.

"What? Did you think that we'd take pity on you because you're so obviously _distraught_ about this?" I look her up and down. Actually, she doesn't look too sick anymore. That shit was probably all an act. I'm about to totally spew all kinds of insults all over her but Rachel just destroys her. She steps into Jo's line of sight, eyes all teary, lower lip trembling, and shakes her head.

"How could you, Jo? You know how much Glee means to me."

"Woah, guys, lay off will you?" Karofsky – sorry, Dave – steps in front of all of us and turns to face us, effectively hiding Jo behind him. "It's not that big of a deal."

"What would you know?" Kurt snipes at him and Dave frowns.

"I know that Jo is cool and she doesn't deserve this shit."

"Well, we all know that Jo is a backstabbing bitch." I spit. Couldn't help it. I mean, she _asked_ me what I how I would feel if Mr Schue was gone. Sure, he's a bit weird sometimes and his rapping majorly sucks, but she asked me and I told her that we loved him. Didn't that mean anything?

Jo doesn't say anything. When she leaves, she looks grey and small and it sucks. She deserves it completely but Britt and I were worried about her and I can't help but still be worried about her. What a bitch. Dave leaves right behind her – going back to their place to plot and plan and scheme how to further ruin us, no doubt – and Britt takes my hand. Nothing more to say, I suppose. Glee is ruined.

**Remember to review – it's my birthday so it **_**is**_** required, as I said before. Much Christmas joy to you all and, as always, happy reading, readers :)**


	36. Chapter 36

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Thirty-Six**

**Glee isn't mine. **

**I wanted to say that I very much appreciated each and every one of the lovely reviews and birthday wishes and Christmas wishes (I do celebrate Christmas and I passed on Hanukah wishes to my Jewish friends) that you all gave me. I hope that each and every one of you had a phenomenal Christmas/holiday – with all the laughter and cheer and presents and family that you wished for. As always, please enjoy my story. (And if there is anything wrong with it, I apologise. I was watching my new Doctor Who box set at the same time. I know, so wrong of me. But so wonderfully right at the same time, don't you think?)**

RACHEL POV

Dad and Daddy are furious with me. I can't believe this. I will have you know that before Jo arrived I had only ever been grounded once. Once! And since she swept in, all tall and mysterious and clever, I've been grounded _twice_. In just a few months.

Technically speaking, I suppose one might argue that it's my fault. The first time, I was grounded quite thoroughly because I yelled at Jo and used foul language, so that was fair enough. Today though – this is _all _her fault.

Daddy sent me to my room to 'think on what I had done this afternoon and how I could fix it'. Quinn was sent to her room as well, which, may I add, is entirely unfair. I mean, seeing as we've done everything together today shouldn't we be permitted to consider our wrongdoings together also? I think that's fair.

With this firm defence in mind, I sneak – no. Not sneak. I am completely justified in my actions. Therefore, I walk slowly and quietly - _only_ because that is what I feel like doing right now – out of my room, down the hall, and to Quinn's room. I rap lightly on the door and wait a beat for an answer. When one isn't immediately forthcoming, I rap again. No answer. I let myself in, slightly worried.

No need to be, of course. The inconsiderate girl is wearing headphones and reading a magazine. I fight the overwhelming urge to splutter with indignation. How _dare _she? She isn't even bothering to pretend to consider the strife we're in.

"Quinn!" I gasp and stamp my foot. And she has the sheer _audacity _to raise her brows at me. Well I never! One day I am going to flick those eyebrows – that's what she's going to get for that. "Quinn Fabray," I start my scolding (although, admittedly, a quiet scolding. I wouldn't want to trouble my fathers) even though I am well aware that she is wearing her headphones. "How dare you entertain yourself when you know very well that Dad and Daddy told us to consider our actions? The nerve it takes to blatantly disregard their demands shocks me!"

Quinn raises her brows – again! – and tuts. "Rachel Berry! How dare you enter my room when you know very well that your Dad and Daddy told us to consider our actions _separately_? The nerve it takes to blatantly-" I roll my eyes and hold up my hand.

"Yes, thank you. I understand. Mimicry to make a point, haha, very amusing." Quinn grins unabashedly and pats her bed enthusiastically.

"Well then, come and sit with me silly. We'll face the fearsome hordes together when the time comes."

She offers me one of her earphones when I plop down next to her, which I decline. Sharing earphones transfers innumerable numbers of bacteria. Quinn shrugs and leaves it out as she flicks slowly through the magazine. I sit quietly next to her, enjoying the company. I suppose that my silence gets to her thought because after only a short while she closes the magazine and peers at me.

"Can I assist you with something, Quinn? Perhaps you have something in your eyes that you need removed?" She pokes her tongue out at me and shoves lightly at my shoulder. "You're being very childish." She shoves me harder and I roll right off the bed and onto the floor with a heavy thump. We lay still for a moment, hoping that my fathers didn't hear anything.

"Hurry and get back up here," she hisses to me after a second and I glare at her.

"If I'm down here when they come up, I have a far better chance of hiding under the bed and, therefore, I will not be removed from your place of habitation." Quinn rolls her eyes and huffs.

"I'm cold, okay? Now get up here. If they aren't up here already, they aren't coming up. Now move it, shorty!" Grumbling under my breath, I do as she commands and she shifts so that we are sitting quite close together. It's getting a little hard to breathe so I distract myself. I haven't really been in here since she moved in so it's nice to see how she decorated. Books, there are plenty of books, and the desk that was in Jo's room is covered in books and papers and things. There aren't any posters though, or photos, which surprises me. I would have thought that Quinn, Queen of McKinley, would have plenty of photos of friends and family. The quilt on the bed is cute.

"Are you okay, Rach?" Quinn murmurs lowly and I turn to catch her watching me closely. "I know that you can't be happy with Jo having Mr Schue suspended." I shake my head.

"I don't want to talk about it, okay?" She stares peering at me again but then shrugs. I smile. _Child_. "So, have you spoken to your parents?" Quinn shakes her head. "I mean, the house can't be being fumigated for this long, can it?"

"Why, Berry?" She smiles to take the sting out of what used to be an insult. "Getting sick of me already?" She smiles more but I can tell that she is genuinely worried. That's one thing I've noticed about Quinn, something I never ever would have thought possible. She's self-conscious. And shy. Quinn Fabray, the most popular, most beautiful, most amazing girl at McKinley High and, quite possibly, all of Ohio, is shy and self-conscious. I never would have believed it possible if I hadn't seen it myself a few times.

So, naturally, I reassure her. Squashing the immediate response of '_never! I'll never get tired of you if we lived forever'_ and just smile and shake my head. Sometimes, I feel it might be necessary to restrain my own dramatics. I rather think that Quinn wouldn't appreciate the level of adoration I would give to her if I allowed myself.

"Good." She smiles very slightly – this one real – and shifts against the headboard to find a more comfortable seat. Something I've wanted to say for a while itches in my mouth and makes me say it.

"Quinn, is there something you want to tell me?" Her eyes flicker to me and away and I offer my best supportive smile. "You've looked after me quite a number of times since we have become friends and helped my with Jo and I'm feeling spectacularly useless. I _want_ to help you, Quinn." I take a deep breathe. "I googled fumigation and the process and a few tactics that can be used to ease the process and make sure all furniture and personal belongings are safe, so that I might be able to inform you or your parents."

As I say this, Quinn stiffens and finally she turns to look at me. "And?"

There are so many things that I want to say: 'I can't believe that you would lie to me' is a major one, except that I can believe it, considering we haven't exactly been friends for an extended period of time, 'fumigation only takes a week' but I don't want to push her, and 'I know that my fathers extended an invitation lacking a time frame to you so I know that it isn't just the alleged fumigation that keeps you away from your house'. But I can't say any of this because I don't want to lose Quinn. I don't want to push, for quite possibly the first time in my life.

So instead, I just say, "You should do your research first." The silent 'before you lie to me' falls more heavily than I expected it to so I dispel it with a smile and shrug. She sighs.

"You mean before I lie to you?" I very deliberately don't move and pretend that I haven't heard her. I'm not sure why, exactly, except that I know that she wants to say something and I am doing everything that I possibly can to make that easier for her. "Rach?" I glance to her quickly but, utilising my extensive and remarkable acting abilities, give her no more of a reaction than that. "My house isn't being fumigated. I've been living with Santana, not just sleeping over at her place, since the start of the summer. My parents…" She sighs again and her face closes over.

"You don't have to tell me," I whisper. "I just wanted you to know that if you _wanted_ to talk about it I was here for you. _Am_ here for you." She grins at me and nudges my shoulder with hers.

"I know that. I trust you." Something about that comment makes us both quiet. I don't know why she is quiet but I certainly know why I am. I'm overwhelmed. I can't for the life of me figure out how we went from mortal enemies to…this. Not that it's a bad thing – no. It is far from bad. I feel comfortable and protected and excited and breathless at times and energised. I feel like I'm five again and I'm going on an adventure. I feel like I'm in front of a crowd and I have just performed the most marvellous performance of my life – except that the crowd is made of just one person and Quinn is it. And that frightens me. But I trust her too. How can I not? Admittedly, sometimes at school I flinch when she walks towards me in the hallways (more so when Santana does it because Santana still _wants_ me to flinch, usually, just for fun) and I can't believe that she will eat lunch with me and that she's made me off limits simply with her presence but it never occurred to me that she wasn't trustworthy. Through all of this I knew that I could trust her. I don't know why; I just know.

Suddenly, interrupting my extremely important thoughts, I hear a knock at the bedroom door. "Girls, you'd better not be having a heart-to-heart because I want you downstairs in two minutes. Got it?"

Quinn and I share an uncertain glance, wondering if it is a trick to get us to admit that we're together in her room, and Dad huffs.

"Two minutes! And Rachel, next time you sneak out of your room, please do try not to sing a sneaky theme song. It gives it away a little." His footsteps fade down the corridor and Quinn rolls her eyes.

"Really, Rach?"

"I…" have nothing to say. "I was not aware that I did that."

"Really? You sing in your sleep and you didn't think that you would sing in tense, important moments of your life? Listen, Rach, I say this as a friend but your brain thinks that everything that happens is an excuse to burst into song."

"I know. I trained myself to find music and expression at every opportunity." Quinn laughs and rests her head on my shoulder.

"Can I tell you something?" she murmurs. I nod against her hair and she sighs shakily. "My parents aren't like yours." She stops me from ranting about having the only gay parents in Lima by grabbing my hand. "They don't love me like yours love you. My parents loved me like a painting or, I don't know, a house. They loved my because I looked pretty and they could show me off to people." I can't say anything to that – what are you supposed to say to that?

I jump off the bed and walk around to her side, where I offer her my hand. She takes it, laughing and wiping at her slightly wet eyes, I yank her up and engulf her in a 'Rachel Hug'. She squeaks – understandably. Rachel Hugs are the greatest things in the world. After a moment, she picks me up and spins me around before dropping me.

"Come on, let's go downstairs before your dads thinks we're doing something inappropriate." She accompanies her statement with a lascivious eyebrow waggle and so I smack her and flounce away and down the stairs…

Only to stop and stare because my fathers, the Pierce parents, Santana and Brittany are waiting for us in the living room. Santana and Brittany look thoroughly scolded and are pouting on the couch so Quinn and I scurry over to join them. I hesitate when I reach them but Santana just shifts closer to Brittany and Quinn pulls me down so I am sitting between her and Satan. Santana crosses her arms and raises a brow at the united team of parents.

"So? What are we doing here? And why are you all looking at us like we killed a truckload of puppies?" Brittany gasps and Santana, without looking at her, takes her hand and pats it until the blonde calms down.

"Well, Santana, the reason we're looking at you like," Dad frowns and purses his lips but says it anyway, "you killed a truckload of puppies is because we are _very_ disappointed in all of you." Now Daddy interrupts.

"What on earth were you girls thinking? Jo has always been on your side, you know that." Dad and Daddy are looking at me with such disappointment that I want to duck my head and hide for days but I stay strong because this time it really is Jo's own fault. So I say exactly that.

"It's Jo's fault, Daddy!" They won't let me say anything else though and frown deeply at us.

"Really? Rachel, Jo has been nothing other than a wonderful sister since she arrived here and I think that you take that for granted far too much." Dad scolds before turning on Quinn. "And Quinn, Jo was the one to ask Principal Figgins to lessen your suspension when you assaulted her. She was the one that convinced him not to expel you so you most definitely owe Jo a small debt, a modicum of respect or friendship. I'm very disappointed in both of you."

Daddy takes over now. He's very good with Jewish guilt. "I think you both need to think long and hard about your actions because you haven't been very nice to Jo. It is easy to be a good friend or sister when nothing is wrong but it is much harder when the going gets tough. But we are family, Rachel, and family sticks together. Quinn, you aren't family but I expected you to be a better friend than you have been." Quinn flinches at that and ducks her head.

Dad and Daddy sigh and step back, allowing the Pierce's to step forward.

"As for you, Santana, Brittany. We are also disappointed." Mrs Pierce makes an extremely disappointed mother face that makes both Brittany _and_ Santana squirm in their place. I have to remind myself that she isn't directing it at me, but then I'm fine. "Jo has always been on your side. Brittany, she has been with you day and night making sure that you understand all your schoolwork. She has gone above and beyond what she is being paid for to make sure that you will graduate and to be a friend to you and you throw it in her face the very second she does something you don't approve of." Brittany opens her mouth to respond but her mother holds up a hand and Britt is silent.

Then Mr Pierce starts to talk. "Santana." She won't meet his eyes. "We aren't your parents but you do live in our house and we love you very much. Because of this, we feel that you need to hear all of this as well. Jo has been your friend, as she has been Brittany's. She has helped you with your work on many an occasion, when she certainly didn't have to, in addition to helping you when you needed it the most without question." Santana slowly sinks into the couch next to me and I notice the death grip she has on Brittany's hand.

I feel that it is my turn to stand up for my new friends, seeing as they won't stand up for themselves. "This isn't fair!" All eyes turn to me and I set my jaw stubbornly. "You won't even _hear_ our side of the story." Dad and Daddy exchange a look and nod to one another. Then they look to the Pierce's, who also nod, and as a unit they take their seats opposite us.

"Tell us then, Rachel. Why did you all gang up on Jo?" I hurriedly organise my thoughts and, standing from the couch and folding my hands in front of me demurely, I nod to them.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen." I can practically _hear_ Santana rolling her eyes but I continue nonetheless. "I appreciate all the comments that you have made regarding my sister, Jo, but I have an argument to counter you." Dad and Daddy are well used to my way of discussing a topic and Dad nods, waving his hand to urge me to speak.

"Proceed, Rachel." I nod my thanks to him.

"As you know, Jo has worried all of us extensively in the past week. She has looked ill and tired," I ignore my fathers concerned looks and continue because I know that they will, as we did, realise the truth. "However, we discovered that this was merely an act designed to garner sympathy and to disguise the truth. Upon entering the Glee choir room this afternoon, we discovered that Jo had, treacherously and under the cloak of betrayal and deceit, succeeded in having our very own and beloved teacher Mr William Schuester suspended from work. We also discovered that she had been in cahoots with the evil Coach Sue Sylvester." I nod slowly and make a pleading gesture towards the gathered adults that they will understand why we did what we did.

"We had no choice," Santana interjects. I feel my lips tighten and I turn slightly to face her.

"Santana," I hiss, "could you please not interrupt? I'm delivering my speech." She raised one hand (the other still tightly gripping Brittany's) in surrender and crosses her legs. "Thank you." I turn back to the parents. "As Santana pointed out, we had no choice. Coach Sylvester made it clear that Jo had betrayed us, me, a member of her own family. As you stated before, this is not something one does to family." Daddy considers this point with a half-nod and a sceptical expression so I hurry on to my finale. (Admittedly, this isn't the best speech I've given but I'm rather proud of it considering that I made it up in a matter of moments.) "Jo is a secretive, manipulative person. I love her very much but she went too far today by ruining Glee and for that reason, the members of New Directions had to expel her from the group as the advisor. It was necessary."

"Rachel," my daddy says slowly. "You said that it wasn't fair that we wouldn't hear your side of the story." I nod. Is he going to admit that he was wrong? "Did you wait to hear her side of the story?" I gape for a moment. "Or did you jump to conclusions and mow her down when she tried to protest?" I slump back onto the couch and try and sort through my memories of the scene.

"We mowed her down," Quinn says immediately. Santana and I (although we are _nothing_ alike) turn slowly towards her, glares ready. What is _with_ that girl? Doesn't she know how to lie to her parental figures? Has she never done it before? (In saying that, I also have never lied to my parents. However, I do know _how_ to lie to my fathers. I am quite proficient in lying – it is, after all, just another form of acting.)

"And what were you _thinking_? Ganging up on her like that?" My dad asks. I'm quite confused by now and I raise my hand straight up into the air. My dad sighs. "Yes, Rachel?"

"May I enquire as to why you believe that you know what happened this afternoon? It is my firm knowledge that you were not present."

I don't like this. Dad and Daddy share smirks with the Pierce parents. The four of us girls cringe. I _hate_ it when parents think they have the upper hand because they usually do, more often than not, when they look like that.

"We asked Mrs Puckerman over for afternoon tea while you girls were all _separately_ considering your actions." Daddy directs the last part of that statement towards me and Quinn. I have no clue why he would…

"Afternoon tea?" Santana frowns. The parents nod and smile. "How long have you been doing…that? Afternoon tea." She sounds a little nervous.

"Well, Santana," Mrs Pierce says, "Leroy, Hiram and I have been friends for quite some time. Brittany and Rachel were in the same dance class when they were younger." _You don't have to remind me,_ I think, my pride still slightly bruised from the fact that Brittany far exceled me at such a young age. That being said, I am very proud of my friend.

"You don't really pay much attention to us oldies," Mr Pierce chuckles. I like him. His eyes crinkle when he laughs, much like Brittany's eyes. He seems to be very kind. "You're all wrapped up in yourselves and in each other and your own little dramas so we sit and watch you all and then we talk about you behind your backs at our afternoon teas. Leroy made a very nice lemon sponge cake for this afternoon."

"Can I have some?" Brittany asks very quietly. Santana's head turns to her girlfriend (am I even allowed to think that? I know that they are together but…out? I don't think so) very quickly and her ponytail smacks me in the eye. I very wisely don't comment, but I grab Quinn's hand so I don't react and blink the tears away. Quinn pats my hand until I give her a smile to let her know that I'm okay.

"Oh, I'm sorry Brittany. We finished the cake. I have some cupcakes with lemon icing in the fridge, though, if you want some." Brittany nods slowly and Daddy hops up and out of the room to fetch some. I'm hurt.

"How come you are being so nice to Brittany? It's not fair!"

"Perhaps because she didn't accuse Jo of anything?" Dad fixes me with his 'I know what you did' look and my anger wilts. "Girls," he sighs, and I feel the need to defend us again. I jump up from my seat and glower at him, my left hand on my hip, my right hand pointing in his face.

"No, Dad! We did what we felt was right because we were defending something important to us!" At this, he too jumps up from his armchair and I can see him tensing.

"And Jo isn't important to you?" He thunders. He grabs my hand and tugs it down, away from his face. "Jo has done _everything_ for you, Rachel."

"She's secretive and manipulative and strange."

"She is your sister!"

"She never tells me anything!"

"Why would she, if you are just going to throw everything into her face at the end of the day?"

"I wouldn't do this if I knew _why_!"

"Then maybe you should have let her _tell_ you!" I pull back, away from Dad, stung. He's right. Dad's face softens and his arms come around my shoulders to pull me into a hug. I go willingly and wrap my arms around his waist. "Calm down, Quinn," he murmurs, and I hear the couch fluff a little, like she has sat down again. I guess all that yelling worked her up a little.

"Girls, would you like to know why Jo had Mr Schuester suspended?" I stay in Dad's arms but turn around so my back is to his chest, so that I can see my Daddy as well. Santana, Brittany and Quinn are also looking at my Daddy. "We wanted you to apologise to Jo because you knew what you did was wrong, not because you found out that what Jo did was right." I nod. That makes sense. But Santana holds up her hand.

"Whoa. What?" I roll my eyes and Santana's eyes cut to me and narrow. "Watch it, Berry." Naturally, I feel my innards shrivel with terror. Repeat, Poppa Berry." She adds a 'please' to her comment after a particularly hard hand squeeze from Brittany.

"We wanted you to realise that your ganging up on Jo and hurting her because you thought that she was hurting you was wrong." Santana nods. "We didn't want you to apologise because we told you the real reason for her suspending Mr Schuester, and because you realised that she did it for a legitimate reason." Santana nods.

"So, you wanted us to feel actual remorse for our actions and not just apologise because you convinced us we were wrong." Daddy nods.

"Precisely. Thank you for that." Santana shrugs.

"Whatever, Poppa Berry." Daddy smiles very slightly at the nickname and I can help but smile as well. Whatever you say about Santana, you cannot deny that she is very good with nicknames and the purpose she intends for them. (In my case, she came up with imaginative but hurtful nicknames, because she wanted to put me down. Similarly with 'Wheezy', Mercedes nickname, and 'Ladyface', which Santana actually came up with before Coach Sylvester. Also, Santana's numerous, imaginative, and also hurtful nicknames for Finn Hudson.)

"So why did Jo do it?" Quinn asks. I wriggle out of Dad's arms and flop down next to Quinn again.

"Yes. Please tell us, since you seem to think that it's oh so important." The four parents frown at one another, then at us, then at each other again.

"Do you concede that you were in the wrong?" Brittany nods immediately and Santana nods as well, more slowly, but just as sincerely. I nod as well. I still think that Jo was in the wrong but…so was I. Quinn's brows jerk together thoughtfully and finally, _finally_, she nods. "Very well. Hiram, if you would?"

Dad sits in his armchair again and looks directly at me. That's fair. I _am_ his daughter, which means that he is most disappointed with me, and I am Jo's sister, which means that I should have been better. I ready myself for whatever is coming.

"I know that it wasn't Jo's intention to ruin Glee. If it was, she no doubt would have had Mr Schuester fired or, knowing Jo, found a far more interesting way to go about it." I concede that with a nod. Jo _is_ somewhat imaginative. "In my view, Jo was doing the right thing as she saw it, considering the fact that Finn Hudson attacked her."

I huff in annoyance. "What does _that_ have to do with Mr Schuester?"

"Rachel," Dad says, "Mr Schuester is the only reason that Finn Hudson didn't go to jail."

There is a long, long silence before Santana explodes.

"_What?_ That vest loving, idiotic, gel-wearing, pandering, simpleton is the reason that the fucking _golden boy_ idiot didn't go to jail? He _assaulted_ two people. He put them in hospital! And Mr Schue got him off? I'm going to kill him!"

JO POV

Dave drives us home, I think. I'm not certain. I do know that I'm at home and I'm fairly certain that he wouldn't have let me drive in this condition. What condition? Well, my hands are shaking weirdly and my head is pounding and I have to lean against this wall for a moment before I can continue to my room.

"Jo?" He calls as I start to close the door. "I…are you okay?" I meet his eyes and smirk. "Yeah. Right. Stupid question. Do you, um, do you need me to do anything?" I tap a fingernail against my doorknob, considering his question, but shake my head.

_No. I just…I need a plan. I've been racking my brain for fucking _days_ but I have no idea what I'm going to do when she gets here. It's fucking over. Everything. My time here – she'll make me go back to New York. My time with Rachel – but I don't know how much that counts for anymore, seeing as she hates my guts. _

Everything in me tells me to go, to run, to leave Rachel to deal with Shelby on her own considering the shit she just pulled. I can't believe she thought I would betray her like that. And _Santana. _That hurt the most. I knew that she was a poisonous piece of work but not to me. I'm her friend. Then again, am I? Was I ever? Seeing as every _fucking_ relationship I've ever had has been a lie, I don't see why I should trust that my sister considers herself my sister or that my friends are really my friends. The only one who isn't a fucking idiot is Dave, and I think that might be just because I beat some sense into him when we first met.

I pace in my room while I consider my options.

Leave. I could do that. I have nothing that holds me here. _Except for your family, _my treacherous heart supplies. Sometimes I wish I could tear it out and just do what was best for me. But no, I was born a bleeding heart romantic sappy shit ball and I let myself get kicked around because I'm an idiot and I _keep thinking_ that this time it's going to work, this time it's my turn to get something right. _Shush_, I tell myself. _Enough of the pity party. We're planning so focus. Focus!_

Delay Shelby. I could do that. I could come up with some outrageous lie. Tell her that Rachel has the monkey flu or some shit like that – Shelby hates being sick more than anything. Then again, Rachel is her prodigal daughter. She's more likely to race to Rachel's side than delay her flight.

Kill Shelby, my brain supplies. I put that in the 'maybe' pile (but that might be going a _little_ too far. Still in the maybe's though).

Stand up to Shelby. Tell her that you aren't her little toy and you aren't letting her get to Rachel. That being said, Rachel has been such a little shit lately, maybe it would be best if she went with Shelby.

I hit my head hard with the base of my hand and scold my brain. Shelby would _eat Rachel alive_ if she was anything less than the perfect little daughter she expected. _And believe me, Shelby_, I can't help but think, _Rachel is anything but perfect._ A tap on the door interrupts my planning.

"Um, Jo?" It's Dave. Of course it's Dave. "Are you okay?"

I yank the door open and frown at him. "Of course. Why?" I narrow my eyes suspiciously at him. Has he been listening in? _Whoa. Hold your horses there, Jo. You've been talking – to _yourself_ – inside your own mind. He has _not_ been listening in._

"It's just that you've been muttering to yourself and laughing for a while now. Maybe you should take a nap or something. I could make you something to eat." I smile at my friend and shake my head.

"No thanks, Dave. Food doesn't solve everything." His face twists and I know that he is considering a world in which food doesn't solve everything. "But thanks for the offer." He chases his thoughts away and smiles at me. Puts his hand on the door so I can't close it on him.

"Let me know if I can help with anything, yeah?" I look up at my enormous roommate and nod. If only because if I _don't_ tell him, he'll try to beat it out of me and now that he isn't surprised by my incredible ninja skills he'll probably be able to land a punch or two and I'm not in the mood for bruises.

"I'll let you know. Thanks Dave." He nods and takes his hand off the door. Watches me. He's probably hoping that I won't immediately close the door – that I will talk to him. He's disappointed. I just can't talk to him right now. I have to plan. I have to plot.

Unfortunately, there's not a lot that I can do and that is made even more obvious by the fact that in the week and a day that I've known about Shelby's impending arrival I haven't been able to have a single idea about how to counteract her imminent attack strategy. Also, my brain is going haywire. I _do_ need to sleep. Doubly unfortunate for me is the fact that I can't sleep when I'm thinking about Shelby. That's the pickle isn't it. I need to sleep so I can think about how to conquer Shelby, but I can't sleep while I think about conquering Shelby because I'm thinking about Shelby, but I need to sleep so that I can – _argh!_

There's that tap at the door again. "Jo?" Dave asks. "You okay?"

"Dave! I'm fine!" There is a short pause and then he sighs.

"Fine. But if you don't sleep tonight, I'm drugging your tea." I frown.

"Fair warning. I'll let you know how it goes."

"Also, I heard a couple of car doors slam so I looked out the window and your sister, Santana, Brittany, and Quinn are here to see you. Us. You, probably." He pauses. "Do you want to see them?"

"No." I give him no more answer than that. I can tell he hasn't left, though, and I wait for him to say something.

"Are you going to see them anyway?" he cajoles and I snap a sharp 'no!' back at him. He takes a step back – I guess I sounded _that_ harsh – and I feel bad instantly. He didn't deserve that.

"Can you just tell them I don't want to see them? Don't let them in, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

**Okay. In the next instalment – the girls (automatically changed to 'gits' the first time I wrote that so I was extremely tempted to leave it) arrive at the apartment and I **_**promise**_** you – PROMISE - that you will see Shelby again. I pinky promise. Cross my heart and hope to gain four hundred kilograms pinky promise swear. Thank you for waiting and reviews, please. I live for them. I love them. They keep me a) entertained, b) motivated, in some instances, c) extremely touched and happy and d) some of you give me some great ideas that I'm stealing so thanks muhahahaha. Over and out. Happy reading, readers :)**


	37. Chapter 37

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Thirty-Seven**

**Glee isn't mine.**

**Hey guys and gals, I've had a few reviews now from people saying that this is going a bit slow and they don't feel like anything is really happening. I completely and utterly understand where you are coming from – it **_**has**_** been thirty-six chapters – so I hope that you think this chapter is a step in the right direction. As always, please enjoy and I hope that those of you who think it's too slow do continue reading because, really, why stop now? You've come this far. **

JO POV

I praise the day I thought of installing a camera (including helpful audio so I can listen in on would-be kidnappers and murderers and outsmart them) outside my apartment. There will be no surprises when I open _this_ door, thank you very much. Also, it helps me spy on the group that has formed in front of my door.

It's the usual suspects – Santana and Brittany, Quinn, and Rachel. And, by usual suspects, that's just my pompous way of saying it's the people I expected it to be – mostly because Dave told me they were coming but slightly because I know that Leroy and Hiram (great guys, great parents) would have set those kids right quick smart.

Dave is standing guard with his arms crossed threateningly. I told him not to – if we were silent for long enough they would get the idea and leave, hopefully. He refused and told me that they'd been mean and should see that he, at least, wasn't happy with them. I thought it was so sweet that I let him go (also, and more importantly, I have pictures that I can use to blackmail him/entertain myself of him acting as my own personal bodyguard).

The battle begins with the first move from the girls' side, courtesy of Rachel. I suppose that the other girls are going to let her do the fighting for now. (FYI - for the purposes of this clash, I'm on the boys' side today/Dave's side.) Rachel marches forward to confront Dave. Her face is set in a stubborn mask and I fight the urge to roll my eyes and then roll them anyway – who is going to see? I'm alone here. I know that she is upset, either with me or with herself but who really cares, but she is always so _stubborn_ and she probably won't back down from the challenge presented here. Aka – get past Dave Karofsky.

Santana looks mildly guilty. I should think so. Where does she get off calling me, what was it? Oh yeah, 'a backstabbing bitch'. Then again, I suppose it didn't look too good that I asked her what she thought of getting rid of Mr Schuester and then, when she said it would be bad, did it anyway…. No! I'm not going to make excuses for her again. She said it and she should apologise for it. That's it. No more Miss Nice Girl.

Brittany is watching Santana nervously. I guess she came along to support her girlfriend. Same with Quinn, except for Rachel. I mean, she came to support her 'friend' who happens to be a 'girl'.

"Hello," Rachel says to Dave when she stops about a pace away from him. He must have frowned because she flinches her 'don't slushie me' flinch before pulling her shoulders back determinedly and tilting her chin up. "Please step aside, Dave. I need to see my sister." It's said with all the authority she can muster. I mean, really. Who is _Dave_ to stand in the way of _the _Rachel Berry: all-important, amazing, stupendous, singer extraordinaire and future Broadway star?

Naturally, he doesn't move. Point One to Dave.

Rachel crosses her arms and frowns up at my hulk-ish friend. "Dave Karofsky, I demand that you move at once. It is of the utmost importance that I see my sister _this instance._"

Which instance? This one? Right now? Oh, I'm a bit busy at the mo', come back later, yeah? A quote flashes through my brain and I can't quite restrain a grin. _Boo, you whore._ (Ten points if you get that one.) Pity I can't defend myself against my sister at the moment (mostly because I don't want to see her) but Dave has it covered. _In the sappiest way possible_.

"No," he says gently. "You've hurt Jo enough today." I flinch at the words, as does Rachel, because I hadn't thought that he had noticed. That what they did hurt me. I mean, boys are supposed to be thick, right? Maybe it's because he's gay…Damn these gays and their new-found intuition that was never before visited upon the male gender! Then again, maybe he was referring to the somewhat internal debate that has been raging this week concerning Shelby. Maybe he thought all of that was about Rachel as well.

Anyway. Rachel recoils at Dave's words and I see her eyes flickering – _damn_ this camera is good. I see her emotions clearly running across her face. I see horror. Guilt, briefly. Determination. (The petty part of me says that she isn't that great of an actress if I can see her emotions. The nicer part of me slaps petty-me across the head and tells me that I'm being petty – no duh, really? – and that Rachel isn't acting right now. Petty-me sticks my tongue out at nice-me and goes back to making faces at Rachel.)

"That is precisely the reason that I should be allowed to pass." Rachel stretches her hand forward and lays it on Dave's forearm. What is she doing? Seduction is useless on him. Is she appealing to his sentimentality? "I need to make this right." I watch, horrified, as Dave sighs and uncrosses his arms.

_No._ _He isn't seriously considering letting her in…is he?_

"Look, Rachel, I'm sorry but she doesn't want to see you." I crow in victory. Apparently my hold over Dave was vastly superior to hers. Friendship wins in the end – who would have thought? "Maybe you can see her tomorrow," he offers. I immediately shout 'no' and then wince, hoping to the gods that the door and distance muffled it. Wish unfulfilled. Rachel glares at the door and Dave stiffens then shrugs. "Sorry. Not tomorrow either."

Point Two to Dave/me. Zero to the girls.

I sit upright then because Rachel is doing something funny with her head, tilting it this way and that. What the hell is she…"Let me past, Dave. Please." Dave shakes her head and so, naturally, my little sister ducks and dives past him. Her hand is on the doorknob for the briefest moment before Dave shoves her back – reasonably gently – and she frowns at him. She dives again. This time, Dave shoves her right back into Santana's arms.

"Look, Berry," Dave no longer sounds gentle. It sounds like he has a headache. I make a note to get him some water and Advil later. "Jo doesn't want to see you, okay?"

"No, Karofsky, that isn't okay!" Rachel yells. "And it isn't okay that you are imprisoning my sister in there and not letting her talk. And it isn't okay that-"

I am up and out of my room, out of the apartment, before I know what I'm doing. Which is a shame, seeing as I wanted them to just leave before I even had to see them. It's a weakness of mine, I'll admit. Defending my friends. I should stamp it out before it takes over.

I throw the door open – _damn_ my penchant for dramatics – and glare down at my little sister. "That is _enough_, Rachel." Strangely, I'm speaking quite calmly and quietly. For added protection and support, I stay safely behind the bulk of Dave, but to his right so that I am visible to my visitors. "Did you really just accuse Dave of…I'm sorry, what was it? _Imprisoning_ me?" I snort. Loudly. (Another character flaw. I try to suppress them usually but the occasional one slips me by.) "Very dramatic of you," I note. Rachel flushes – embarrassment – and opens her mouth to speak but I am not done. Not by a long shot. "You will not speak to Dave like that in the future." Woah. Gone is calm and quiet. My tone is decidedly final and I can feel my eyes narrowing into a hard stare. I am _not_ a girl to be messed with, thank you very much. "He, unlike _some people_," my gaze skitters over to Santana and softens on Brittany, before resting briefly on Quinn, "has stood by me no matter what and I like that. I like _him._ So, if you want to apologise to me – which is what I assume you are doing seeing as you've ceased yelling at me and calling me names," Santana flinches, "then you will first apologise to him."

Rachel takes a step back. It's been a while since I've spoken to her like that…cold. I pretend that I'm not affected by her upset and continue my take no prisoners approach. To my surprise, she swallows (her pride? Ha!) and tilts her head up so she can meet Dave's eyes. "I'm sorry Dave. I was bordering on hysterical and-"

I butt in before she can finish. "Nope. No excuses, Rachel. Just apologise."

Rachel blinks and then nods. "You're right. I'm sorry Dave. I shouldn't have accused you like that, of that, and I shouldn't have acted in the way I did. I hope you can forgive me."

I rest back onto the doorframe and let myself smile a little. Well, that was easy. Now, if I just shift a little and turn the doorknob and move back, I will be home free and – but no.

"Stop right there!" Rachel practically _bellows_ the order and I wince but obediently stop and sigh. "I've apologised to Dave and now I want to apologise to you."

Do I actually want to hear this? Excuses and what-not that won't make up for the fact that when they didn't even _listen_ to me it felt like my heart was being torn into little pieces and then stomped on and then someone kicked me in the stomach and punched my solar plexus? Oh gosh. I need to go to sleep.

I glance at my watch and wince. It's getting late. But, looking up at now four determined faces, I know that they won't leave until they've done what they came for. "Fine," I growl. "Get it over with."

"I'm sorry," comes a quick and yet surprisingly not insincere apology from Quinn. I peer into her eyes, moving forward so I can squeeze into the space next to Dave, and then offer her a little smile. She didn't really need to be forgiven anyway; since having me beaten and slushied she, actually, she's been pretty okay.

Brittany sniffles and I turn to find her with tears in her eyes and I gape at my friend. "Britt…" What on earth? "Britt, why are you crying?"

"Do you hate me now?" She whispers.

"What? _No_. Why on earth would I hate you?" She sniffles again and I step forward so I can use my sleeve to dry her cheeks. "Britt?" I crouch a little so I can look up into her eyes. "What's up?"

"Sanny called you a mean name and Rachie made you feel bad and then you were really upset and I just want us all to get along and I'm _sorry_," she wails. I hesitate for a moment before tugging her into a hug. A _brief _hug.

"Britt," I murmur into her ear, "I am not upset about that." She looks up at me like I'm an idiot and I shrug. "Much. And I am definitely _not_ mad or upset with you because you didn't do anything, okay?"

"But I didn't do anything." I frown and nod slowly. "I didn't say anything even though I knew you wouldn't have hurt us." My frown clears and I shrug.

"Maybe next time, yeah?" She smiles – a watery, thankfully snot-free smile – and nods. I let her go and step back to my place next to Dave.

"Jo," San says. I meet her eyes. "I…" I feel my lips tightening as she battles for the words. Not because I'm upset that she isn't saying anything– far from it. It makes me uncomfortable, knowing that she wants to say something but it's hard because everyone is always so fucking sappy when they apologise and, well, sapy isn't Santana (except with her Britt-Britt). "I'm a bitch, okay? I'm sorry." And somehow Santana overcomes that impending sappiness. I nod my forgiveness. Then I turn to Rachel.

She looks up at me with big, brown eyes and begins. "Jo, I am so sorry. I should have trusted you and the fact that I didn't just," it's this gesture. She puts her hand on her heart and her eyes plead with me and everything about it is…Shelby. That's not Rachel's fault but it makes me angry and I just can't deal with that at the moment. I spin around, cutting her off mid-sentence, and stalk back into my apartment.

"Jo!" I pause, briefly, but continue. Dave comes into the apartment with me and I close the door behind us. Almost. Rachel sticks her foot in the gap before it closes and a small part of my brain taunts me, tells me that I did it slowly, obviously, on purpose – I _wanted_ her to stop me. Perhaps it's true. Then again, fuck off brain. "Jo, this isn't fair! You listen to the others and you forgive them without a second thought but you won't even listen to me."

"Oh," I taunt her, "I wonder who I learnt that from, Rachel. " Everyone can tell that it is missing the usual bite, though, and Rachel presses a hand to the wood of my door. "What do you want, Rachel?"

"I want to tell you that I'm sorry. And I want you to open this door so that we can talk."

"Why?"

"Because I'm your sister." And that rips. Oh, how it tears. I laugh, a laugh that I cut off quickly.

"And that's exactly why I _don't_ want to see you, Rach." Maybe it was the use of her nickname, maybe it was that I don't say it quite as harshly as I possibly could have, but Rachel doesn't leave. She keeps her foot in the gap and develops an urgent tone.

"Jo, come on. I'm sorry, okay? I know that you protect us and that you do things that are right and, quite frankly, I am sick of it. You never tell me anything because you want to protect me and it's getting old. I told you after the incident with Quinn's hoodlums – _no I don't blame you, Quinn_," she hisses, "that I wanted to help you. And then I told you I wanted to get to know you and we went on sister dates for exactly that purpose and I thought I was getting closer but now I see that you gave me what you were willing to give and no more."

"I have the right to decide what I give to people, Rachel. It's my life."

"But I'm your _sister_. Don't I have a right to you as well? I want to know you, Jo. Why won't you let me in?" She hits the wood of the door firmly with that last sentence but we both know she isn't talking about the apartment.

_You never tell me anything, _her voice repeats in my mind and I stifle a manic grin. How right she is. "Rach? I do forgive you, but…" She sighs.

"What do I have to do?"

"You have to forgive me too." From the silence, I know that isn't what she expected. "I haven't told you anything and I'm sorry. But, you have to know that I did it for a good reason. I don't want you hurt, Rach." And, for now, it's just me that knows that I'm not talking about this latest incident. I just hope she realises that when everything comes to a head.

"Do you promise to tell me?" I hesitate and she talks the opportunity to tack on the word "everything."

"Everything?" I rest my head on the wall. "No. I like my privacy." I hear four almost identical snorts – one from right behind me, the eavesdropping brilliant friend that Dave is, and three from outside. Rachel, Santana, and Quinn, all listening in. And I hear one laugh – Brittany. Too nice to snort at me for being me. "But I do promise to tell you everything you need to know."

"What about the things I don't need to know?" I hesitate again. "What about the things I want to know about you?"

"I'll think about it," is my final answer. She isn't happy with it but the tiny shoe slips out from between my door and the frame and I click it shut with finality. "I love you, Rach," I whisper when I close the door. Dave's hand closes around my shoulder briefly in a supportive gesture.

There is a knock and I sigh. "What?"

"Dave?" Comes Rachel's voice. I turn. Dave frowns at me but shrugs and answers my sister.

"Yeah?" _Yes, _I tell him in my mind. _Please refrain from butchering the Queen's English_. I don't say it out aloud, though, because I love this meathead of a boy.

"Keep her safe for me." I jerk at the suggestion – how does she, what does she…what? Hmph. Where does she get off telling_ my_ Dave what to do? But Dave nods, even though Rachel can't see him.

"I will." There is the sound of receding footsteps, which then clatter down the apartment steps, and it is Dave and I alone in our apartment. "You know I'll keep that promise, Jo," he says. I nod and give him a little smile before retreating to my room. Only to see that I have a message waiting for me.

_Shelby, _I think, and grab the phone. Shelby indeed.

**From Unknown Number: Josephine, my flight was delayed but I will be arriving midday Wednesday. I am hoping to make it in time to see one of Rachel's rehearsals for her New Directions. I will message you later. **

The longest message I've ever received from her and the only thing it does is manage to seal my doom. I exit my room silently and find Dave.

"I need your help."

"Sleeping?" he asks. I nod and, slowly, stretch out my hand. Surprisingly, instead of popping some pills into it, he takes my hand gently and leads me into our kitchen. After some prodding, he gets me to sit on the bench and bustles about preparing a tea for me. Then, finally, he hands me two pills and a tall glass of water and watches me carefully as I swallow them. He hands me my favourite tea and a book and ushers me to my armchair. I am feeling odd…pampered.

"This wasn't necessary, Dave." He grins and shrugs. "No, it's not okay. How am I going to repay you? You do more than I would ask of you and-"

He cuts me off none-too-gently with a hand over my mouth. "Jo, you are letting me live in your home and eat your food. I don't think being your friend is too much to ask." He shrugs. "But, if you want to repay me, then drink your tea and do as I say."

I make a token resistance. "I'll get a crick neck if I sleep here," I mutter. My eyelids are already beginning to droop.

He tilts my cup up so I sip from it and smiles. "Then I'll carry you to your bed. Don't worry about a thing, Jo." So I don't. It's an odd sensation, being cared for. I highly recommend it.

And I remember murmuring a thank you and vainly trying not to spill my tea and Dave leaning forward and taking my mug from me and his arms up and around me and my head on his chest and my warm, warm bed and sinking into it and…nothing.

JO POV

I wake feeling strangely rested. I smack my lips and frown. Now _that_ is an odd taste. Then I remember the drugs and the taste makes sense. I stretch languorously and feel the blissful cracking of my joints and the sun on my face, warming me. That's odd. I'm usually out of bed well before the sun comes through this window – oh. Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. This can't be happening. I scramble for my phone, my watch, any form of time-telling device and groan when I see the time. Another groan when I see the day. It's _Wednesday. _I've missed a _whole day_ – and a half! And Shelby will be arriving at the school anytime within the next two hours!

I am dressed and ready faster than anyone ever has dressed and been ready in the history of … history (shut up, you. Hyperbole is necessary in times of dire need, such as now. So is sarcasm and 'fuck offs', like this one: fuck off!) and in my car. I arrive at school within twenty minutes, just in time for the beginning of Glee rehearsal. I send Dave the vilest, most awful glare I have in my repertoire when he comes to sit next to me and I shift away an inch or two.

"Don't be like that," he murmurs without looking at me. "You needed the rest."

"I didn't need _that_ much rest," I hiss back. "I missed an entire day of school!"

"Oh so what?" He says. "Brittany was fine, she had Lopez and Fabray, Rachel was fine, she had Puckerman and Fabray, and I was fine. So relax."

"Did you ever think that this wasn't about you guys? Maybe that I had things to do?" At this he does turn to me and he fixes me with a frown.

"Things that are more important than your health? Jo, you didn't look good. You had bags under your eyes that would fit all of my football gear." I give a little smirk at his exaggeration but make myself serious again because he is very serious. "You needed to sleep. And if it makes you feel better, I didn't double dose you or anything. I guess your body just needed to sleep that much."

I sigh. I hate it when I can't argue because the other person is clearly right. "Fine," I say. "But I'm still not happy." He smirks – a trait, no doubt, picked up from me. "Thank you," I say much, much more quietly. He nods.

After that, I have no idea what happened. I vaguely register Rachel directing the club in Mr Schuester's absence. I suppose that the situation was explained to the lesser choir minions because they don't hassle me at all. Rachel sings; Santana teases her a little; Quinn defends Rachel; and Kurt and Mercedes gossip a little. Dave gets called away by his football coach or something. I don't know. I'm too busy watching the door. Waiting. And then it happens. Slowly, but much too quickly for my liking. Actually, the fact that it happens at all is what bothers me.

She appears as a face, just outside the choir room. Rachel is singing and _the woman_ pauses, listening. I can't help but feel that she is tainting it. No one else notices. I stand slowly and surreptitiously move to the door. Open. Closed. Tugging Shelby out of sight.

SANTANA POV

"Whoa. Hold up." I hold up my hand and things come to a screeching halt around me. Of course they do. I'm Santana fucking Lopez. No one disobeys me. "Where the fuck did Jo go?" Britt giggles beside me – probs because 'Jo' and 'go' rhyme – and I find my lips twitching at the same thing (so what does that make me? Whipped, I supply sadly. Thoroughly whipped…)

"She left a little while ago," Kurt supplies and points his dainty little lady fingers to the choir room door. I snap my fingers to make everyone shut up again (they all erupted into noisy gossip) and Kurt huffs in disdain before crossing his legs. I roll my eyes at him.

After a moment, we can hear noise from outside and, naturally, we all move to see what's happening. Rachel is first to the door and she peeks around it. Suddenly, the blood drains from her face and she walks out of the room like she's fucking possessed or something. Quinn follows her without a second thought; Britt and I follow as well – Unholy Trinity and all that. For Quinn. Not for the hobbit, of course.

Jo is chatting with some lady – not really chatting, actually. I would probably call it bitch fighting. Hissed and low, trying not to drawing attention, using words that are specially designed to cut to goad and hurt the other girl, or woman as the case may be. I don't think much of it – who am I kidding? Of course I fucking think a lot of it. We sneak closer and are fully prepared to pull Jo out of whatever is happening when Berry speaks up.

"Mom?" That little word changes the whole game plan. (Plus the rest of the Glee club gasps in surprised synchronization.) This is Jo's mother. Rachel's mother. Holy Christ. Actually, now that I'm looking at her rather than trying to figure out a way to get Jo out of whatever shit she's in, I can see the resemblance. You'd have to be blink not to.

The hair. The eyes. The height, for Jo. The bone structure, for Rachel. The hands and fingers for both of them, long and delicate. Fucking hell – this is Rachel Berry's mother! And Jo's of course. But everyone knew that Jo had a mother, whereas Rachel always denied the presence of hers.

When Rachel says that, Jo jerks her head around fast and she looks, I don't know, defeated? Defeated. Her shoulders slump minutely but then she sees me, and Britt behind me, and Quinn, and her eyes flash and she turns back to her mother. She then steps deliberately between Rachel and their mother, her back to us. Her fists clench at her sides and, from what I can see, she is full on staring her mother down.

"Josephine," their mother says. Shit. I can tell where Rachel got her voice. Soft, mesmerising, melodious – I guess that is what Rachel will sound like when she's older. (And though I am loathe to admit it, with that kind of voice and, from the voice she has now, even better than this, I just _know_ that the little freak will be on Broadway…and we'll probably be right there cheering her on.) "Move, please. I would like to see my daughter." Something about that strikes me as odd but I don't say anything because, really, she's never seen Berry. I smirk. Hope she isn't disappointed with Manhands.

"I'm not moving, Shelby." Whoa. Stubborn much, Jo? Rachel's head snaps to look at her sister, away from her mother. No…not stubborn. It's something more than that. Something shifts in my stomach and I feel sick all of a sudden. This isn't right.

As Jo and her mother hiss_ very_ quietly at one another, my mind races as I try and figure this out. Shelby. Shelby – yes, of course! She's the one who called Jo at Britt's house last week. After which, Jo acted really weirdly the whole week…Something clicks in my head that I can't _quite_ understand but I move a little closer to Rachel, just in case, because that sick feeling is growing and I never ignore my intuition. I'm Santana fucking Lopez – hello, I'm always right. In my peripherals I can see Quinn doing the same thing. I look around just to be sure and am glad to see that Brittany is safely behind me.

When I turn back around, Shelby is one step closer to Jo and my friend is shaking very slightly. Not obviously. Just in her left hand, the one she taps incessantly, annoyingly. She's tapping it extremely slowly. It looks more like she's just stroking her leg. Something is _wrong_. I sidle closer to Rachel, who doesn't notice a thing because she's completely absorbed in the whole 'this is my mother' thing.

"Josephine." Shelby's voice is louder now and sharp. "_Move_." I'm impressed when Jo doesn't appear to even flinch at that. I would have if my mother spoke like that to me.

"No."

"Jo, please? I want to meet her." Rachel is tugging on Jo's sleeve but Jo just tugs her arms away and shoves Rachel very lightly back. She doesn't even look at her.

"No, Rachel. I'm not moving." Rachel continues to beg and Britt touches my shoulder. She bends down to whisper in my ear.

"San, look at Jo." So I do. Again. I look at my friend and everything has changed. Her shoulders are tense again, her fingers are tapping faster and now and then gripping the material of her jeans, and her face is tight. At the risk of repeating myself, I think: something is very, _very_ wrong. I nod to Britt that I've seen it and step forward to take Rachel's elbow and tug her backwards.

"Maybe you should chill for a minute, Berry. Just wait, okay?" Rachel's head jerks around to me and then to Quinn pleadingly, but I can tell that my friend is in agreement with me. Rachel turns back to me.

"Why?" I open my mouth to answer, not sure really what I would say (because 'something is fucking wrong, idiot' might not go down too well), but we hear Jo speaking again and postpone the discussion.

"You can't have her, Shelby." Rachel opens her mouth, suddenly intensely furious, face reddening, but my hand comes down on her shoulder. Quinn's does as well. Maybe with both of us there she remembers the chat we had with her fathers – the whole conversation about her not listening to Jo and all of that – and she waits for a moment, the angry flush in her face receding.

Instead of yelling, she actually looks at her sister and obediently steps back. Admittedly, towards Quinn and not me but that's fine. It's not like I saved her from hurting her sister again or whatever. I huff a little but Britt nudges me and I let it go.

"Josephine, you have no right to stop me from seeing my own daughter. You cannot stop Rachel from seeing her mother." Shelby takes a step to the side and smiles at Rachel. "Hello, Rachel." Rach nods cautiously and Shelby's smile widens. "Oh my," she sighs. "You look so much like your grandmother." Rachel brightens at this; Jo, on the other hand, droops visibly. Shelby's hands clasp together as she beams at my hobbit. "I have heard so much about you, Rachel. Please, come closer. Is it true that you won your first competition at six months?"

Rachel steps out again, towards Shelby, and answers as if in a daze. "Five months, actually." Shelby's smile brightens, if that is possible, and holds a hand out to Rachel. Rachel reaches her own hand out and maybe I was mistaken because Shelby looks really nice actually. Then Quinn's hand snaps out and grabs Rachel's shoulder, halting her. I look over. My friend is watching Shelby with suspicious eyes.

"Just hold on a second, Rach. What about your dads?" Good point, Quinn. (Not surprising that Quinn would think of them at a time like this. They've become super close since she started staying with them.) "Didn't your mom sign a contract or something?"

I see Jo jerk to attention and she moves closer to Shelby, making the woman back up a little. "Yes, Shelby. What about the contract that states that you aren't to seek contact with your daughter until she is eighteen years of age."

"Be quiet and _move_, Josephine!" Shelby snaps with a fierce stare, and Jo flinches.

Then my friend speaks in low, dark tones. "And what will you do if I don't?" My mind clicks that piece of the puzzle into place and everything makes more sense. Not entirely, but more sense. This is the puzzle that I've figured out: Shelby is _not_ a nice person and Rachel should _not_ be going with her. I roll all tension out of my shoulders and prepare for a showdown.

Shelby tries to glare Jo down and moves towards Rachel, but I shove the girl behind me and into Quinn. I know from the little squeak that Rachel makes that Quinn grips her tightly and moves in front of the girl as well. Shelby witnesses our movement and her eyes darken. Then she turns on Jo.

"I see what this is." Holy Christ, the woman moves like a shark. Pacing in front of Jo slowly, eyes on her face. "Oh, Josephine, I've tried so hard to give you everything but you insist on making it so difficult. Why is everything so hard with you?" Jo doesn't answer and the woman tuts and shakes her head. "Is this because of your sister? I knew that it was going to be hard for you when I sent you here but you know, I honestly thought that you would at least try and overcome your unnatural jealousy. But I see that you couldn't and now you've turned everyone against me."

"I didn't need to turn anyone against you, Shelby." Jo says. "In fact, I've never mentioned you. Not even once. Not to _any_ of these people. But look – they all dislike you. And you did that all. By. Your. _Self."_

I can hear Quinn murmuring to Rachel but don't really pay attention because the moment Jo stops speaking, Shelby erupts.

"I can't believe this!" she snaps. "You couldn't do a single, simple thing for me, could you? Do you really hate me that much?" Jo flinches slightly but stands her ground. "_Fine_. Is this the way you want it? I tried so hard to help you, Josephine, and in return I have only ever wanted one thing and that was to get to know Rachel but you have _ruined_ that for me. You are such a cruel girl." Shelby sighs and I step forward, scowling, to give her a little of the Lima Heights Adjacent kind of welcome but Jo puts a hand out to stop me. From the determination on her face, I gather that this is her fight. That being said, I will be going _all_ Lima Heights if this bitch hurts Jo.

"I may be cruel, Shelby, but you are _poisonous_. There was no way that I was ever letting you near my little sister."

"One thing!" It's like she didn't even hear Jo speak. "I asked you to do one thing for me – just talk to your sister about me and tell her how wonderful it could be with me – and did you? _No._ I come here and find out that you've turned her against me. Well fine. I see that jealousy has won out. And just because you'll never be as wonderful as my daughter, you couldn't find it in that dark heart of yours to do a single good deed. You see that she's better than you in every way and instead of striving to be better, what do you do? You tear down everyone around you. You are a sad person, Josephine, and I will _never_ forgive you for this."

"What the fuck?" are the words that come out of my mouth. I knew that Rachel and Shelby were related but this is intense. The woman is four hundred times more dramatic than our hobbit. I turn to Jo, sure that she has some biting comment to send shooting back to the idiot lady, but my friend does nothing except come to stand right next to me. In front of Rachel, I realise. Shelby's face twists and her hand comes up to smack Jo's cheek. Fast and hard. I only realise what's happened when Jo sucks in a barely audible breath and Shelby's hand retreats.

"Oh _hell_ no." I leap at the woman but four arms around my waist hold me back. Jo and Britt. My girls. Doesn't stop me from yelling though. "I will hurt you! I will cut you. Don't you touch my friend. I have razor blades _all_ up in my hair and I will _cut_ you, bitch!" Britt tugs me backwards and strokes my shoulder until the tension drains away. And that bitch – Shelby – doesn't even look at me. She locks eyes with Jo.

"Daughters do right by their mothers and you have never once helped me despite all I have done for you. So, Josephine, henceforth you are no longer my daughter. I will not have you in this family to poison us any longer. Rachel is my only daughter, my _real _daughter, and I know that she will never hurt me like you have." The she-devil turns to Rachel and smiles. Holds out her hand. "Rachel, won't you come with me?"

But Rachel is already shaking her head. "You slapped my sister. You…you're crazy if you think I'm going anywhere with you if you treat Jo like that." Shelby's face crumples for a moment into an angry frown before she smiles again.

"Well then. That's all right sweetie. I understand that it's a lot to take in and this wasn't quite how I hoped this would turn out. I understand." She nods demurely, head down, and then smiles. "Why don't you think it over for a few days and then I'll come back for you, okay?"

"Think _what_ over?"

"Why, coming to live with me of course, silly." Shelby beams at Rachel before giving a little wave to all of us. "It was so nice to meet all of Rachel's friends." She fixes Rachel with an intense stare and smiles again, wider. "I'll be back soon darling," she promises. "Bye-bye now." And then she is gone.

For a long moment, none of us look anywhere but where the bitch had been standing. Then Jo turns around and I see that her cheek is already swelling and Britt goes to stroke it and to whisper 'it's alright' and similar phrases because Jo looks more distraught than I've ever seen her. Next to me, Quinn grasps tightly to Rachel because the hobbit looks like she's about to faint.

"Alright, if no one else is going to say it then I am." Kurt's higher-than-a-girls voice pipes up from the door of the choir room. "What the _hell_ was that all about?"

"That," Jo says in a defeated tone, "was my mother."

**Okay, how was that? Reviews, please. By the barrelful if you will. I'm kidding haha (or am I? No, I'm not.) I'm pretty tired. I hope there aren't too many mistakes in here due to my lack of sleep. I hope you liked it, and Shelby's appearance (finally) and if you have anything you want me to include in the story then I am always open to ideas. Love you guys, you are all fantastic! Happy reading, readers :)**


	38. Chapter 38

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Thirty-Eight**

**Glee isn't mine.**

**Sorry for the late update, y'all. (What with floods and power outages…) (Actually, I've been procrastinating for weeks. Sorry.) Enjoy!**

JO POV

There are hands on me, I realise when I ease my way back into full consciousness. Not that I was _un_conscious, just…hmm. Do you remember when I told you that I could focus on something and block everything else out? Yeah. I did that. And, naturally, being an _idiot_, I decided to focus on a nice, calm feeling, rather than the deep eddy of swirling emotions and turmoil inside of me – not to mention the prickling, fluctuating pressure on my skin caused by my dizziness. Yeah, it probably wasn't a smart idea to 'focus' at all but, to be completely honest, I am sick and tired of being smart.

Before ignoring everything and metaphorically curling into a little ball and rocking backwards and forwards, I noticed that Rachel looked a bit faint. Understandable, really, given that her previously-thought-to-be brilliant and adoring mother was, in reality, a psychotic and adoring mother.

My heart gives another lurch, quickly followed by an unpleasant twist of the stomach – both of which I believe to be symptoms of grief. Or fury. Or a heart condition…

Where was I? Oh yeah, the hands. Sorry, I get a bit distracted when I'm drawn out of my 'ignoring everyone because I'm intensely focusing on something' freakiness by outside influences. There are two pairs of hands on me. One pair is gently wrapped around my left wrist. Their hands are soft and delicate and Brittany's, I decide. The other pair are, in comparison, much larger, heavier, and rougher. There is one on each of my shoulders and they are holding up upright with the support of an immensely broad chest – Dave, of course.

When I bring my eyes back into focus, I see that I'm right. Brittany, hands clasped around my wrist, is leaning against Santana and watching my face intently. Dave is, obviously, standing behind me.

"Welcome back," Santana drawls. "Had a nice nap?"

"I was _not_ napping," I huff. I move to cross my arms as well but Brittany's fingers tighten and her face screws up a little in objection, so I leave her holding me and instead just frown at her girlfriend. Santana rolls her eyes. I'm glad she's acting as if everything is normal and that my psycho mother didn't just rampage through the place…even if I know and she knows that she _is_ just acting.

Dave's fingers also tighten on my shoulders and I roll my head back onto his chest so I can look up at him. (He has an _enormous_ nose from this angle, by the way.) I raise my eyebrows in question.

"As much as I love school," he rumbles, "this probably isn't the best place for anything serious." I nod, catching sight of a poster with some cats playing poker. _Probably not._ "Wanna go home?" he asks me. I nod. "Alright." He pats my right shoulder and turns away. I move to follow but Britt's hold tightens again and she's making that 'you aren't going anywhere' face. I sigh.

"You can come too, if you want." Britt glances over at San, who nods and shrugs as if it's no big deal. In saying that, I will point out that she beats all of us to Dave's truck and holds the door wide open. _Just for Brittany,_ her eyes tell me, _but what a strange and happy coincidence that you are also getting in the truck. _And then, when I smirk at her and make no move to enter said vehicle, they say, _get in the fucking truck, you fucking psychotic know-it-all bitch or I will kick your arse._ I do get in the truck. Because I wanted to.

Britt practically coils herself around me on the ride home and I feel a little bad that I've made her this worried. I don't even know why – I know I wasn't out for too long. Admittedly, I was out long enough that someone, supposedly (and by 'supposedly' I mean definitely because there is no way that she would let anyone else do it) Quinn, took Rachel home – but I don't think it was overly long. I have a pretty highly developed innate sense of time. Still, I think it prudent to ask.

"Dave?" He grunts back to show I have his attention, even though he's driving. "How long was I out for?" He shrugs.

"Five, ten minutes." I scowl. I hate it when people say that.

"Yes, okay." I try to curb my natural reaction – rolling my eyes – and ask for details. "But by that do you mean five or do you mean ten minutes? Or, god forbid, could it have been any other time within that rather significant time frame that you just gave me?"

He shrugs again and Santana growls at him from the front passenger seat. "I swear, Karofsky, if you weren't gay I would hit you right now. Answer her!" He frowns, glaring at her sideways, and is about to ask what his being gay has anything to do with it (I know that's what he is going to ask because that is what I am going to ask) when Brittany pipes up helpfully from next to me in the backseat.

"She means she isn't supposed to hit girls."

"And Dave is a girl?"

Brittany shakes her head. "No. Sanny is just being mean again." Brittany scowls at her girlfriend, who shrugs. Dave nods, fuming silently, and I smile a little.

"Now, now ladies, let's not fight, hmm?" That makes Dave glare at me via the rear-view mirror and I blow him a kiss. He shakes his head, mumbling under his breath no doubt vile and horrendous things I don't want to hear.

In the end, it's Brittany that answers my question. "You were all funny for six, almost seven, minutes," she offers. Then she frowns and pulls me tighter to her, snuggling closer, arms winding and gripping like Devil's Snare around me, nose practically in my neck. I pat her knee a few times and give her a smile.

Let's get one thing straight – I am thankful for my friends. So thankful. I mean, I've never really had them before so these people are amazing. They would be anyway, of course, because they _are_ amazing people. They aren't just amazing because I haven't had to judge them against anyone. I mean – ugh. Okay. Backtracking. I love my friends and I am thankful for them. I am _not_, however, thankful for the fact that they think that I need them to watch me very, very carefully while I'm walking up the stairs and position Dave one step behind me in case I fall and have Brittany race ahead and open doors for me and Santana silently and from afar watching me and making sure that, I don't know, that I'm not twitching or frothing at the mouth. I hate that. I _hate_ being watched like that. I hate not being a normal person. Which is probably why I brush them all off and slam my way into my bedroom and refuse to let any of them in…

THIRD PERSON POV

By the time Jo's friends reach the apartment, Jo has shut herself in her room. Not one to be thwarted, Dave pulls his armchair over and sits, waiting, in front of her door. Santana and Brittany stand there with him for a short moment before Santana spies the empty living room and what she knows is an extremely comfortable couch. She drags her girlfriend there, deciding to take advantage of the brief peace and quiet to get her mack on.

Meanwhile, in another part of town, Quinn pulls up in front of Rachel's house. _Our house_, she thinks, still a little overwhelmed by the idea that she had been accepted by men who didn't really even know her. Quinn leaps out of the car and races around to the other side, opening the door for her friend.

Rachel barely acknowledges her. She blinks at the blonde when she feels a gentle hand propelling her towards the front door, but makes no movement to assist her. She is, quite obviously, deep in shock.

Quinn fumbles around for the spare key atop the lintel, loathe to take her eyes off of Rachel for even a second in case the girl crumples, and lets Rachel into the house, closing the door behind them.

Both girls hear Leroy and Hiram in the kitchen – Rachel, again, doesn't acknowledge their presence and Quinn gives Rachel a small push towards the stairs and a nod. The small diva climbs the stairs, disappearing into her room without a look back. Quinn stands for a moment at the base of the stairs, watching her go, and can't hide the hurt she feels that Rachel doesn't look back. Still, she squashes these feelings – _why _should_ she look back?_ she wonders – and practically runs to the kitchen and to the men there.

"Hello, Quinn!" Hiram beams at the newest addition to their family – a beam that fades when he sees Quinn's somewhat distraught visage. "What's wrong, sweetie?" Leroy looks up from his baking at that and runs his eyes over the girl, trying to x-ray her for injuries with his intensity.

"There's been some trouble," she admits. Leroy moves around the bench, searching for Rachel and seems perfectly ready to sprint to his little girl, but Quinn shakes her head. "Rachel's fine. Well, she's not _fine_ but she is fine." Leroy frowns. Quinn takes a deep breath. "She met her mother today."

QUINN POV

There were a couple of ways I could describe Shelby – Jo's mother, Rachel's mother…and a psychotic freak. I look up at Leroy and Hiram and I'm attacked by a small niggling tendril of jealousy. Here are these men, these wonderful and kind men, who are clearly terribly worried about their daughter – and all I can think is _why didn't I ever get this_? And then, just as suddenly, _I wonder if Jo has ever had someone this worried about her_.

The thought – sneaking out from my conscience – pulls me back to the present where Leroy and Hiram are waiting for me to tell them what is wrong with Rachel meeting Shelby. They aren't too fussed by it.

"I really have no issue with Rachel meeting her," says Hiram in his deep baritone. "Though I might have a few words with the woman as we _did_ agree to wait until Rachel was eighteen. She would be an adult then and free to make her own choices." Leroy was nodding along with Hiram's musings.

"I don't think you'll be happy about this," I tentatively offer.

"Nonsense! We've never hidden from our baby girl that her mother wanted to meet her." Hiram reaches over, beaming, and takes his husbands hand. "We have always reassured her that we love her and always will. Rachel is a good girl and free to make her own choices. She is certainly free to meet her mother."

I clench my teeth together tightly. Sometimes I hate that I've been raised to be polite. My innards qualm at even _thinking_ about interrupting. And so, the moment Hiram stops talking, I blurt out quickly what happened.

"Shelby's really scary and I think she might be psychotic and Jo really hates her and I don't trust her!" Hiram and Leroy blink at me and then look at each other.

"What?"

I take a deep breath. "She came to school this afternoon and Jo confronted her. She wouldn't let Rachel anywhere near her mother," I say as I recall how Jo stood in front of the woman, despite the intense glare Shelby had been giving her. "I think Shelby made Jo come here. She wanted her to do something and when Jo told her she hadn't, Shelby was really mad. And then she tried to take Rachel and she slapped Jo but Santana and I made sure that Rachel was safe and Jo wouldn't let her past. And now Rachel is upset because her mother threatened to come back for her and she is really scary!"

Leroy and Hiram probably start freaking out. They definitely have some kind of reaction to what I said. I don't see it though. My duty done, I sprint up to Rachel bedroom and, when I see her lying on her back and just staring up at the ceiling, I gently close the door and just watch her for a moment.

She doesn't say anything for a long time and then: "I thought you'd left."

"With you like this?" I smile at her and shake my head. "Never." I make my way over to the bed and poke her in the side. "Come on, woman. Scoot over and let me in." When I jab her enough, she finally grunts and shifts over so I can squeeze in next to her. It takes a little rearranging to make sure that my Cheerios skirt doesn't reveal too much but it turns out fine.

"Thanks, Quinn." I smile again – twice in one day, this must be some kind of record! – but she doesn't smile back.

"Rach?" She hums to let me know she's listening. "We need to talk." You know how they say that hindsight is 20/20? Well, I'll admit that those four words probably weren't the best idea. I _did_, however, think that they would be alright seeing as Rachel and I aren't dating. I guess not.

Rachel leaps out of the bed, eyes wide, and presses her lips together. "I'm sorry!" I sit up more slowly, if only because if I do move faster, my stupid skirt pleats will show Rachel more than she really wants to see. "Please, Quinn, I'm sorry. I'll talk less and I'll sing less-"

"Rachel."

"and I'll give you better compliments and I will dress better and I'll-"

"Rachel."

"stay away from you in school because I know that some of the other Cheerios are upset about my presence and-"

"Rachel!" _Finally _she stops talking. "What the hell was that?"

"You're my best friend, Quinn," she says miserably. "I can't, I don't want you to leave."

"I'm not leaving. What made you think that?" Her facial features make the abrupt and rather terrifying transition from sad to angry.

"You said _we need to talk_. If that isn't an 'I'm breaking up with you' then I don't know what is!" She stamps her foot to make her point – rather cutely, might I add – but I frown at her.

"Rach, we aren't dating." _Not that I'd mind if we were_. I'd long come to the realisation – with help from Santana and her rather more 'extreme' torture tendencies (attempted drowning, attempted starvation, ignoring me…flirting) – that I like Rachel. A lot. I'm not sure why. I mean, it's definitely not because she is obstinately hard-headed or because she's opinionated or because she sings _all the time_ or because she has a temper that erupts like Mount Vesuvius. Then again…I mean, the fact that she doesn't back down from anyone or anything makes her special. And her opinions are almost always well thought out and she _does_ argue spectacularly well and it's fun talking to someone who doesn't just blinding agree with everything I say. And she has a great singing voice – I could listen to her all day. As for her temper – well. Yeah, that could be quashed a little but it's not too hard to deal with.

So. I like Rachel. A lot. For…everything about her. I mean, she wouldn't quite be Rachel without _all_ of her being there – opinions, temper, singing and all.

"I know we aren't dating!" she says. "But, I mean, friends can break up too. Can't they?" I shrug.

"I suppose so." I grab one of her pillows and hug it, leaning my chin on top of it lightly. "Now, if you're done making a scene, can we talk?" She smiles at me this time and nods, flopping back onto the bed. "I know that you're acting all happy now but this afternoon was…" I search for the word. How can I adequately describe what happened? "Crazy," I settle on. Rachel avoids eye contact. "Rach?"

"I'm fine." Okay, now that makes me angry.

"Rachel Barbara Berry! Don't you dare say that to me." I scowl as fiercely as I possibly can and then take a deep breath. "Rach," I say more softly, "I'm pretty sure." I stop myself. I was going to say _I'm pretty sure you're my best friend_ but that's not so. Santana is my best friend – absolutely, without a doubt. So…what is Rachel? I shake my head. "Rach," I start over. She doesn't seem to mind the deviation. "You are very special to me." I say it to my hands, admittedly, but her intake of breath tells me that she heard and, well, liked that. "Please talk to me?"

I glance up to see Rachel smiling at me and I smile back. She nods her head to the place next to her and I manoeuvre myself to the most comfortable position. We are lying together flat on her bed, heads propped up on a pillow each, and pressed together – shoulders, hips, ankles. After a few moments of silence, I take her hand and squeeze it gently.

"Can you go first?" she whispers. I stare up at the ceiling and don't answer. She presses her face to my shoulder and whispers "please?"

"What?" I question. "You want to play tradesies?" I shrug. "Okay."

"Why are you staying with us?"

"Because I have nowhere else to go." I shoot back straightaway. She doesn't say anything though and, when I look at her, her eyes make it clear that I'm not getting away with that. "Fine," I huff. "I left _them_ at their house at the start of summer." Rachel nods. She knows this. "Russell had left because he'd been cheating on mum with some tattooed harlot and gambling and doing all kinds of un-Christian things." I can't help but sneer the words to the ceiling and squeeze Rachel's hand tightly. It feels good though. I've barely said anything and my chest feels lighter. Less tight. "It was, well, fine I guess with just me and mum. We didn't talk about," I take a deep breath, "about Beth. We didn't really talk at all. And then when Russell came back, he insisted that we be a better, Christian family but I couldn't help thinking that he was a liar and a cheat and a complete and utter _dick_ and I didn't want to play happy families with him." I shrug. "So I left. I stayed with Santana and Brittany at San's house."

Rachel smiles at me and I smile back. "Your turn now." Her face immediately closes over and I shift so I am on my side and looking directly into her face. "Come on, Rach. You've heard my story – let's hear yours." She mumbles something that I don't quite catch and I poke her in the side. "What was that?"

"You'll think I'm stupid," she murmurs. Only slightly louder but I hear her this time. Her eyes flicker up to mine and then away again. Her fingers play with mine.

"I have never once thought that you were stupid, Rach. Not even when I was Head Bitch In Charge. I _promise_ you that." And I hold her eyes with mine until she nods, telling me that she believes me. And, in a completely sappy way, I feel warmer. I'm happy that she believes me. "Now, tell me!"

She sighs and settles further into her bed sheets – preparing herself for what, knowing Rachel, is bound to be a long, _long_ story. It's a while before she speaks but I know that, this time at least, it's because she's thinking of what she wants to say, not because she's procrastinating.

"She isn't what I expected." Rachel peers up from under her eyelashes again at me. "Shelby, I mean." I nod and hum encouragingly. When she doesn't appear to be continuing, I say a little something.

"Would that be because she seemed to be slightly psychotic?" Despite her glaring at my sarcasm, she nods.

"Quinn?" I smile at her. "Before I continue, I just want to say and remind you very, very firmly that I love my fathers very much. They mean the world to me." Rachel frowns heavily as she says this but I wave the comment away. I know that. "No, Quinn. I do. They have been the most wonderful parents."

"I sense a 'but'." She gnaws on her lip.

"But," she says with a tiny incline of her head towards me, "ever since I discovered at the tender age of two and four months that most other children had a mother as well as a father," she hesitates again. "I felt something missing. I thought it was my mother."

"I sense another 'but'." She glares at me.

"Yes, thank you Quinn. Very insightful. Now, do you want me to continue or do you want to keep butting in?" I zip my mouth shut – figuratively – and she nods. "Thank you. Now," she pauses and regathers her thoughts. (Again, figuratively.) "I thought that what was missing was my mother. I know that isn't fair because I have two wonderful fathers who love me very much but there are some things that fathers aren't really equipped to deal with." I grin and blanch simultaneously when I think of Leroy or Hiram trying to awkwardly give Rachel the 'menstruation' chat. She nods.

"I get it. You needed a mother sometimes." She nods but it is still hesitant. There's something she isn't saying. Knowing that she doesn't want me to butt in, I instead fix her with a curious gaze. She doesn't seem to notice it, though, because she is fixated on her bed spread, tracing the patterns with a finger. Also, somehow, at some point, we've shifted positions so we are sitting up against the headboard – but still side-by-side.

"But it isn't just that," she finally says. "I always felt like I wasn't…_enough._ I mean, why didn't she want me?" She turns an agonised face towards me and, if it wasn't bad enough that I was feeling some of Rachel's pain, I felt a sudden stabbing pain through my heart and abdomen. _My Beth, _I thought_. Will you think the same?_ "Quinn." I force myself to meet Rachel's eyes and she smiles. "Beth will know that you love her. You gave her a letter, remember? And you said the family promised to tell her when she was old enough."

I nod but it still hurts. Rachel scoots closer and links her arm through the crook of my elbow, tugging my shoulder towards her so she can lean against me. "Do you want to keep talking?" I ask.

"Do you want me to?" I nod. "Then I will." She watches me closely, I know, for any signs of discomfort or sadness and I am determined not to show them. This is her night. I'm not going to be a detrimental force for Rachel working out her feelings towards her own mother. "That's why I try so hard at, well, at everything," she admits. "I wanted to be somebody my mother could be proud of. All those clubs, my dancing and singing lessons, 4.0 GPA, almost perfect attendance." She shrugs. "It's just strange now that I know that I did all of that for someone like her."

I frown. That doesn't sound right. "You aren't proud of those things? You brag all the time about them." When Rachel frowns, I backtrack. "Not the bad kind of bragging! Just, you know, bragging. It's fine. I brag about being Head Cheerio all the time." She smiles. "You _are_ proud of that stuff aren't you? I mean, it was super difficult. Just, you know, tell yourself that you aren't doing it for her anymore and that you are doing it for yourself. Then all of that is still really great stuff."

She nods slowly and then beams at me. "Thank you." I shrug.

"No charge. I'll be here all week." Then I frown. "No, wait. Ten bucks." She sticks out her tongue and I grin. "And I know that your dads are extremely proud of you. You did all of that stuff for them as well, didn't you?"

She nods again. "Well of course. It is imperative that my fathers are proud of me. I love them very much."

We sit in silence for another while and I look at my watch. It's getting late. But there's one last thing we haven't discussed and if Rachel doesn't bring it up soon, I will. Luckily, she does.

"Why do you think Jo didn't mention her?"

"Your dads didn't want her to talk about Shelby, remember?" Rachel half shrugs but she doesn't look convinced.

"And all that stuff Shelby was saying – about Jo doing one little thing for her and talking to me and telling me how great it is with her. What did that sound like to you?"

"Honestly? It sounded like she wanted Jo to brainwash you." Rachel sighs.

"Yes. That is the conclusion that I came to also." I frown at her and she grins a little, tiredly. "Sorry. Old habits. That's what I thought," she amends. "But Jo didn't brainwash me." I shake my head no. "No. She didn't." Rachel purses her lips and thinks hard for a few minutes.

I'm doing my own thinking but I've pretty much come to the conclusion that I always have when Jo is concerning with Rachel – Jo is concerned about Rachel. Jo protects Rachel…even at her own cost. It's both a strength and a flaw. Strength – because it shows how good and brave she is. Flaw – because she doesn't see her own worth, perceiving herself as essentially worthless, or that her worth is intrinsically connected with Rachel/Rachel's wellbeing. It is confusing but I think I've figured it out. Basically: Jo loves Rachel.

"Quinn?" I raise my eyebrows. "Jo didn't have a happy time with Shelby, did she?" Rachel sounds very young asking this but she doesn't take her eyes off me for a second. I shake my head no. Rachel doesn't question how I know. She just nods and traces the patterns on her sheet again. "Quinn? Do you think Shelby is crazy?"

"I think it's a possibility. Jo sure seemed to think so. And, Rach… I think Jo might have been protecting you for a lot longer than we think." Rachel frowns and I shuffle closer to her. A few of Jo's comments have clicked into place and I hesitantly lay them out for Rachel to see. "Remember, in the hospital, when Jo said that Shelby received photos of you and she loved them?" Rachel nods. "Jo wasn't happy about that. I thought then that it might have been jealousy but I think, well, I think that she might have been angry that Shelby had been obsessed with you even then." Rachel nods. "And Jo never said outright that she liked her mother – she just said that she was her favourite parent. That just means that she liked her father even less." Rachel blanches – as do I, at the thoughts and questions that are raised by _that_ discovery – and I move hurriedly on. "And Jo says she's lived alone for a long time. She probably moved out as soon as she could." Rachel brings her knees up to her chest and hugs herself tightly.

"She doesn't sleep, you know. And when she first came to live with us she had a nightmare that was so bad she threw up. I think that's why she doesn't really sleep. And that's why she's a coffee fiend." I nod. Insomnia makes sense. "And she's been worrying herself sick – _that's_ why she looked so ill this week!" Rachel looks horrified and I can't fathom why – until I remember that she told her fathers that Jo had only made herself look like that to garner sympathy from us. "Oh my god. I'm the worst sister ever."

I grab Rachel tightly and hug her to my chest. She falls slightly to the side and I smooth her hair gently. "No, Rach. You aren't. " I smile. "That's Frannie, remember? Wasabi? Ninth birthday?" It pulls a smile from Rachel but not enough. I sigh. "It's not your fault. Jo obviously finds it hard to talk to people which is no surprise given that-" I cut myself off suddenly and Rachel pulls away.

"Given _what_, Quinn?" I shake my head. "Quinn. Given _what_?" I bit my lip – I can't tell Rachel this. "Why can't you tell me?"

"I promised. I promised I wouldn't say anything. I'm sorry, Rach." I look at her pleadingly and, slowly, she nods her head begrudgingly.

"I know. It's fine, I get it." She looks at me for a long time; her eyes flicker everywhere over me. I feel it like a physical touch – like fingertips trailing over my cheeks and my lips and my arms and hands and eyelids – and then Rachel really does touch me. She presses her hand to my cheek, shyly, and smiles a very small smile. "Thank you." My frown tells her that I have no idea what she's thanking me for. "For being here. It's nice to have someone on my side." Her smile widens. "It's nice to have someone."

Her confessions breaks down most of the walls I have left – admittedly few, given that Rachel and her cuteness is rather detrimental to my walls – and I beam right back at her. "There is nowhere I would rather be, or anyone I would rather be with." Rachel blinks back sudden tears and I flinch. I made her _cry_. Her smile, though, tells me that it's different from all the other times that I've made her cry. These are good tears. "Rach," I say gently. I look away quickly and back to her – I have to say this fast before my courage fails me. "You are wonderful, and beautiful, and perfect. Don't ever forget that." When she does nothing but cry a little bit more and stare at me, dumbfounded, I clear my throat and shift uneasily. "We should probably go and talk to Jo. I mean, Shelby said some pretty horrid things and your sister probably needs someone to talk to." I smile. "You know, someone to be on her side like I'm on your side."

Rachel, still dumbfounded, is going to say something when the bedroom door opens as someone knocks on it.

"Girls, Dave is here. I think you should go with him. He says Jo needs you."

SANTANA POV

Brittany is asleep on the couch next to me. I guess all the excitement of today and the worry of the entire week (concerning Jo, of course) has finally caught up with her because she is completely unconscious. I'm searching through the bookshelves for something interesting to read (and boy does she have an interesting collection of books!) when I hear it. The sound is coming from Jo's room and I run over because it doesn't sound quite right. Karofsky, being an idiot boy, doesn't react when things start going 'thump' in Jo's room, but I do. Especially when the 'thump's are methodical and precise. It sounds like things are being moved.

"Move, Karofsky." I shove him out of the way – not hugely effective seeing as he is sitting in a huge-ass armchair – and open the door to Jo's room. "What the shit is this?" I exclaim. "You don't even have a fucking lock!"

Jo glares up at me and then her glare just fades away and she shrugs. "It's a fire hazard."

"So why the fuck didn't Karofsky just come in here and toss you out into the living room so we could have a proper fucking chat?" Jo rolls her eyes.

"Do you really have to squeeze two dozen expletives into every fucking sentence?" She places the book she was holding onto her bookshelf with a muted thump. _That_ was the sound I heard from outside.

"What are you doing?"

She looks at me sideway. "I'm rearranging my bookcase. It was organised by size but now I'm organising it alphabetically by title, though series will remain together based on the series title." I roll my eyes.

"Wrong." Naturally, the bitch frowns at me.

"Wrong? I don't think so. That is definitely what I'm doing."

"No. What you are _doing_ is ignoring the fact that, oh I don't know, your fucking mother came to visit your little sister. Oh, and you didn't tell us she was a fucking psycho that likes to hit you." Jo flinches and I can see her hand twitch towards her cheek, like she wants to touch it. Instead of breaking down and telling me everything and being relieved and then being normal, Jo frowns and me and turns back to her bookcase.

"Why do you care?"

"Because you're my best friend," I want to say something more but I hurry on before it can come out, "and because I'm probably the only person you can talk to about this. Britt – no way." Jo nods. There is no way that she would ever talk to Brittany about anything darker than a paper cut; and there is no way that I would ever let her. "Quinn? I don't think so." Jo frowns but then nods. Quinn's alright. I know that they are getting along better, or Jo has rescinded death threats, and Quinn could probably/definitely understand what Jo's been through but they aren't close enough. "Rachel?"

Jo's reaction is violent and yet restrained. Her hand clenches hard on the book she's holding and she presses it down on the shelf hard. Silently. Her jaw tenses and relaxes as she works the anger out and I find myself standing right next to her almost immediately, hand on her shoulder.

"Come on. Talk to me."

"And what makes you think that you understand?" Her voice is controlled. Tighter than I've ever heard it before. I shrug.

"You think you're the only lesbian whose family hates her? Get off your high horse, you big brainless idiot, and talk to me. I told you before that you had to sort your shit out but did you listen to me? No." I flop myself down on her bed and crook a finger towards her.

Sadly, she doesn't lie on top of me or directly next to me like Brittany would. Instead, she lies perpendicular to me and rests her claves on my shins. She crosses her arms and scowls at me, clearly waiting.

"What?" I finally bite out.

"I'm waiting."

"For what?" What the shit does she think she's doing?

"I'm waiting for you to prove to me that you know shit about what I'm feeling." It's my turn to scowl at her and I mimic her position, crossing my arms.

"You want me to tell you about the shit I've been through?" She nods. "Now why the hell would I want to do that?" Jo softens and shrugs.

"You didn't want me to mess up Britt with all my darkness or upset her cause I didn't want a hug." She peers at me. "I don't want you to hurt Brittany by shutting her out. Or freaking out because you two were doing god knows what in your bedroom when Mr Dickface Lopez came home." I flinch. "Yeah, see? That. Right there. You flinched." I scowl at her again.

"I didn't." Her eyes narrow and I suddenly feel that challenging her might not have been the best idea.

"Brittany deserves everything, Santana. _Everything_ you have to give. All your love," she winces – probably knowing that she sounds as sappy as she does, "all your happiness, and all of the things you have to share. Including pain. What is the point of a relationship if you can't lean on one another for support?"

"Oh look who's talking!"

"I'm not _in_ a relationship, San."

"Aren't you? Pretty sure that a friend_ship_ is a relation_ship_, bitch. And I'm your friend, okay? Whoop de fucking do. Get over it. Now fucking tell me what's wrong so I can fix it and let's get back to Brittany." Her crossed arms tighten.

"No. Not until you tell me something. You need to work out your shit too before you can take it to Britt." I scowl but, fuck, she's right.

"Fine. Me first?" Jo nods, looking unnaturally grim.

"Yeah. My story, well. It takes a while. Best get yours over with first."

**Hi y'all. Terribly sorry about the late update. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I'd love, as always, for you to review and tell me what you liked and/or what you want to see coming up. Also, I'm thinking of changing the description of the story seeing as it is slightly ambiguous so I'm holding a competition – send in what you think it should be and I will select a winner/maybe not depending on whether I like them/ and I will dedicate the next chapter to them! Have fun! Happy reading, readers :)**


	39. Chapter 39

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Thirty-Nine**

**Glee isn't mine.**

**Please enjoy. Oh, and in response to a review – in Chapter 38, Dave was at Rachel's house and then I went back in time and he was sitting in front of Jo's door because Quinn/Rachel and Santana/Jo discussions were happening simultaneously. At the end of Quinn/Rachel discussion he was there because he left Jo's apartment. Sorry for any confusion :) **

JO POV

I never thought that Santana would actually talk to me about this stuff. I mean, I know that I insisted but…that was mainly due to procrastinatory reasons. Do I want to help her and know how she is feeling? Sure! I mean, yeah of course. But, you know, I didn't think she actually _would_ tell me. I just wanted to delay my story for a little while. It's not pretty. And, well, I'm ashamed of myself and how I acted back then. For numerous, convoluted reasons that I'm sure I will splurge about when my turn comes. For now, though, this is all about Santana.

"All right. What do you want to know?" I shrug, already having made up my mind that I will be difficult. I don't exactly _want_ to tell my side of the story. Santana, understandably, scowls at me. "Fucking hell, Corcoran. What do you want from me?"

I shrug again. "That's not my problem, _Lopez_." I add a little sarcasm to her name. I mean, it's pointless

"You mean you want me to come up with shit to tell you and you _might_ tell me things if they are revealing enough?" I shrug again – damn that abominable habit! "That's…" She snaps her mouth shut and kicks my legs off of her, leaping up. She strides across the room and then spins on the ball of her feet, glaring right at me. I keep a mildly bored expression on my face and offer her a small smile. I can't explain what I'm feeling, not exactly. I'm _angry_ and _upset_ and—oh. Hurt. Yeah, that would be it. I'm like those pitiable creatures that lash out when they've been injured. But I do it in a far sneakier, underhanded, cruel kind of way.

"You know what, Corcoran? We'll play it your way." She comes closer – too close for comfort – and crouches next to me. "But we're playing my way as well. I tell you something, you tell me something in return. Got it?" The intensely fierce look in her eyes tells me that I wouldn't get away with saying no so I nod and, smirking, gesture for her to take her place again. This time, though, her legs are resting on mine and I know it's because she's trying to keep me in place. I can feel the bunching and tensing of her muscles when I shift to get comfortable. She doesn't trust me. Not with this. Not with myself.

"I was left alone for the first time by my parents when I was eleven." I stop myself from rolling my eyes. That's not something to be upset about – that's practically a blessing. "They went on a business trip to some fancy place and I had to look after myself for three weeks." Then again, different people consider different things hurtful.

"And that was bad?" Santana glowers at me.

"Of course it was bad!" Her eyes flash for a moment and she shrugs. "It wouldn't be for you though, would it?" Oh dear. What _have_ I got myself into? This girl is more insightful than I gave her credit for. "Whatever. Yeah, it sucked."

I tighten my lips and eyes, thinking. "My turn?" I ask. She nods. I take a while, sorting through the possibilities, and then shrug. "My mother has never supported me. Ever." That's a bit of an understatement. Still, it's not like she can just expect me to pull down all my metaphorical walls and say outright that my mother hates me and always has.

Or maybe she does expect that. Santana frowns. "Not that I don't appreciate that emotional shit can hurt but can you get to the physical thing so you can get over that first?"

"Oh, you're telling me how to tell you things, are you? Yeah, that's real swell. Why don't you go ahead and tell me why you're such a messed up bitch? Was it just because Daddy didn't hug you that one time? Are you really that shallow?"

Santana dives towards me and presses her forearm to my throat, pressing hard. I gasp for breath and grimace as she crushes my windpipe, grating tendons and flesh together. "You better take that back, puta!" I shove her off me, hard, and she slams into my wall. I hold her there without much difficulty and sneer.

"What are you going to do about it if I don't, huh?" I say, voice slightly hoarse from the abuse. She kicks me in the thigh and I jerk away. I deflate a little and back away more. I don't want to hurt her. Maybe this isn't going to work. We're too similar – prickly, protective, insecure – for this to work. But I want it to. I want a friend and I want someone who knows me. Even if she might not like me afterwards. I hold my hands up to her. "Fine!" She stops just short of kicking me again (though I suspect that it's an effort and a half). "What do you want me to tell you?"

She narrows her eyes at me suspiciously but, smart enough to take advantage of a, well, of an advantage, she bites out her demands. "I want you to tell me about your mother and whatever stupid plan she was talking about. I want to know why she called Berry her 'real daughter'" (quotation marks and all, I kid you not!) "and I want to know-" she pauses, watching me, weighing my potential reaction to her demand in her mind. Her voice softens and so does her stance. "I want to know about the scars as well."

I jerk my head into a semblance of a nod. "All of those are," I twitch but force the words out, "possible. But I want to know about your family. Your mum and dad and Brittany and Quinn and I want to know about Sue Sylvester and Glee and the Cheerios and-"

"Whoa. Slow the fuck down." Santana frowns. "That's a lot."

"And I have a lot to tell about what you want to know about." She shrugs. "So…" I look down and notice that my hand is fluttering by my side. _Bad hand!_ I thought I had that tic beat. Guess not. I wonder how long it's been doing that…

"Fine. Are we doing this or what?" We lock eyes and I roll the tension out of my shoulders before nodding.

"Yeah. Let's do this."

"You go first," Santana insists. "What plan was your mother talking about?"

"Her _name_ is Shelby and she is _not_ my mother." I manage a smile but, from Santana's reaction, it isn't pretty. "Didn't you hear her? I am, henceforth, no longer her daughter."

"Yeah, what the fuck was all that about?" I level a glare at her that, potentially, could make her burst into flames. She glares right back and mouths 'what?'

"Do you want me to answer your original question or not?" When it's clear that she won't interrupt – probably – maybe – she might… - I continue. Actually, I sort of rattle off the information. I had it drilled into me before I arrived here and I will have you know that my memory is exceptional. "Her ingenious plan was that she would plant me here as a tutor, in the Berry household, where I would earn the trust of Rachel and inform her that her mother was a wonderful and loving and kind person and that Rachel would love spending time with her. I was also supposed to cause some kind of rift between her dads and Rachel if possible." Santana frowns.

"You didn't do any of that."

"No," I say with no small amount of glee. "I didn't, did I?" Santana grins when I smile wickedly at the thought.

"So, basically you're telling me that you didn't follow through with anything Shelby told you to do?" I shrug.

"I'm a tutor, aren't I?" I pause. "And I texted her. A lot. Every night she expected an update on how I was doing with my brainwashing. I made up a lot of crap – Rachel was angry at Leroy today. Rachel needed some help picking out her clothes today and her useless dads didn't have a clue. I really think that Rachel is excited to meet you." My hand clenches involuntarily on some fabric – my shirt, I realise – and I sigh.

"Oh my god." I look up at Santana's dumbfounded expression. "You're some fucking secret agent." I scowl. "No. Fucking. Way. You _are._ You were undercover and providing false information – that is gold."

I huff and turn the attention on her. "Your turn, San. Tell me about _your_ mother."

"Not much to tell." I frown but she backtracks. "No, I'm serious. I don't really know anything about her. She looks like me but old and she's crazy smart. She's a doctor or a doctoring representative for some company or other and she's always away on business. I mean _always_." San looks up and smiles sadly. "But we're talking about all the crappy shit in our lives so you want to know that she hasn't been to any birthdays or Christmases since I was seven years old. You want to know that she compensated by hiring a nanny and buying me a car and letting my friends stay over as often as I wanted." She sighs. "That's what you wanted to know, isn't it?"

"I wanted anything you wanted to talk about." I don't know where the gentle tone comes from but I do know that my words are true. Though I suppose painful things are what we're talking about. "My turn?" I offer just to distract her. She leaps on the opportunity and fires off her next question.

"Why did Shelby call Berry her real daughter?"

"Ah." I hesitate. "You comfortable?" Santana nods, confused. "Good." I take a deep breath. "I was born a couple of years before Rach and so I was almost old enough to actually remember Shelby having her." I look at the blank white wall of my bedroom and smile a little. Sadly, because this story isn't a nice one. "I definitely remember the aftermath of her giving Rachel up to Leroy and Hiram." Santana frowns but I ignore her. She wanted this story so I'm giving it to her. "I think the pregnancy might have been difficult. Strenuous. All I know is that a few weeks after she gave up Rachel, she had a bit of a breakdown and-" I stop. Shrug. "Let's just say that I thought my name was Rachel for a while."

Santana sucks in a breath and, when I don't say anything or make eye contact, she asks hesitantly: "how long?"

"Oh, you know," I wave a hand dismissively, "a year or two." Santana, smart girl that she is, realises that something had to have happened then if I knew I wasn't Rachel. And this she doesn't hesitate to ask.

"So what happened then?"

I smile nastily and Santana slumps. "Tell me about your dad," I counter.

"Dammit, Corcoran," she whines. "Just finish telling me the story!"

"No. We said tradesies and we are _doing_ tradesies. Now 'fess up."

"Fine!" She shrugs uncomfortably and I smirk when the eye of scrutiny moves from me to her. (What? I don't like that blasted eye of scrutiny – it itches.) "You've met my Papi." I nod. _Unfortunately_. "He's, well, kind of the same as my Mami. Goes away on business trips, doesn't come back." Her nose twitches slightly and she sighs. "Walks in on me and Britt and decides that he should finally take an interest in my life." Her hand comes up to brush her cheek where it had been bruised. "Apparently likes to hit people." She grins when she sees my less-than-impressed expression. That was the _least_ amount of information she could possibly have given me. I adore that she is such a bitch. "What?"

"Has he contacted you since then?" I can't help but stare at the place where the bruise had been; for a moment I saw the purple spread over her skin again and I reach out to brush it with the backs of my fingers. She lets me but I jerk my hand back after a short moment. Her skin is really warm.

"No. Maybe. I haven't exactly been back there and he doesn't know my phone number." I nod. "So what happened to make you realise that you weren't Rachel but Jo?"

"My father came back. He, I don't know, fixed Shelby somehow and she started getting better. He told me all about Rachel and I figured out I was Jo with his help. Not Rachel." Santana is watching me closely so I smile – not going to show anything incriminating. Not wincing on the word 'help'. Not tensing when I mention him. Pretending that calling him my father doesn't make goosebumps erupt over every inch of my skin. _Please don't ask questions, San._ "So your parents let you have Brittany and Quinn over all summer?"

San shrugs. I like this. We are a pair of good for nothing shruggers – and I mean that with the utmost affection.

"It's not that they _let_ me, per se. It's more of a 'don't know, don't care' kind of policy. If my parents didn't know that they were there then they didn't care. And besides," she adds defensively, "I wanted them there. And Q needed a place to stay. Her family is messed up." A dark cloud passes over Santana's face (metaphorically – keep up please) and I want to ask about it but before I can open my mouth to spit out the question, Santana has decided that it's my turn again.

"Hey now! That isn't fair. You barely said anything."

"Well, you asked a crappy question and that ain't _my_ fault, is it?"

"Fine. Next question." Santana watches me so carefully that I am almost certain the big question is now. The scars. It isn't.

"How come you didn't fight back when Shelby hit you? Or stand up for yourself? You only stood up for Rachel and," she snorts but not with amusement. Potentially disgust. "Hell, you never stand up for yourself."

"So, your question is?" She glowers at me.

"My question _is_: why don't you fight back? What did she do to you that makes you…you." My left cheek and my lips give a little twitch that might, possibly, pass for a smile.

"How eloquent of you."

"Fuck you."

"Oh please," I smirk. "You can't handle this." I pull my left knee up from under San's legs and hug it carelessly, letting my right arm dangle on my other thigh. It's incredibly comfortable, even if it looks somewhat contorted. Santana pokes her tongue out and I laugh. "Don't point that at me unless you intend to use it, missy."

I think that the two innuendos – right after one another – shocked her. Does she think I'm a prude or something? Oh wait…I totally am…Anyway, Santana slams her mouth shut and her eyes widen before she grins widely at me and gestures for me to continue with my story.

"What did she do to me? Nothing." I smile at her and she scowls. Not the answer she was looking for, clearly, so I elaborate. "I guess it's kind of similar to what your mother did. Well, didn't do. She just ignored me. Paid me off so she wouldn't have to spend time with me. Missed the big things and the little things – birthdays, Christmases, parent teacher meetings, taking me out for my back-to-school supplies. I was," I grimace, "never worth her attention after she found out I wasn't her beloved Rachel." I say it with annoyance but I know that Santana knows it isn't directed at Rachel. Just at Shelby.

"So she didn't hit you?" I give her a little glare that tells her that I know it's my turn to ask the question but I answer anyway.

"No. She never hit me."

"Except for today."

"Except for today," I concede with a nod. "Tell me about Brittany and what you're planning on doing. I mean, you aren't just going to hide your relationship forever, are you?"

"No. I want to let everyone know we're dating, especially so those idiot hockey players will keep their eyes _off_ my girl but I can't." I don't have to even ask 'why not' because she keeps talking. "I want to – I want to try – but every time I think about saying something I freak out. I mean, I took her to a date the other night and I held her hand but, um," she blushes, "under the napkin." She screws her eyes shut and sighs. "I just can't do it."

"Pussy," I taunt. Her eyes flask and she snarls at me. "Oh please. You won't do anything to me. You're too chicken." I smirk broadly and she smacks me on the shoulder, slumping back against the wall. "Look, Lopez, if it's any consolation, I'll look after you." She looks up at me. "Anyone gives you any shit, I'll give them detention. I _have_ that power. And if they try something else then I've totally got your back."

Santana nods but doesn't say anything until, "where did you get your scars?" I can honestly say that those weren't the words I expected out of her mouth at that moment. I mean, yeah I expected them _eventually_ but not right that second. I flinched.

"From a belt," I said nonchalantly. She pokes me, probably to get me to look at her, but I don't really want to. "And some glass fragments, but that was an accident."

"A belt," she says flatly. I nod without looking at her. "A belt." This time, I heave a sigh and roll my eyes.

"Yes, Santana. A belt. Are we done with you repeating that over and over? Can we move on, please?" I don't think my little rant had as much effect as I'd hoped, given that I wasn't looking at her but over at my door. "Tell me about Quinn."

I don't think she cares what she tells me – she's just running through the motions of telling me things so we get back to me. "We met when I was nine and we've been friends ever since. Her dad never really liked me but I think that's because he's a racist bigot with a fat head." She sneers at the thought of him. "Quinn is so much better away from him. Them. Both of her parents messed her up." Now I don't think she even remembers that she's talking to me – she's thinking out aloud. "Russell was a dick. I think he might have hit Q sometimes because she would come over to mine at weird hours and she'd just want to sit with me. Us: me and Britt. Her mother probably wasn't much better. I know that she drinks a lot. They made her feel terrible about herself all the time and that's why she became Quinn Fabray, Head Bitch. She needed," Santana shakes her head. "She needed to be in charge. Torture other people just to make sure that she wasn't the one being tortured."

"Like you did?" Santana tries a smile.

"Hell naw. I'm just a bitch." I raise my eyebrows and she smiles. "Maybe a little."

"And Britt?"

"No. Brittany is perfect. If she was ever mean to someone then it was because she was following our example. And I made sure that she never ever had to slushie someone. Doing that to someone is almost as bad as being slushied. Trust me – I know. I've done both." I nod. "When did the abuse start?"

_Abuse._ I hate that word. Don't get me wrong – I know that's what it was. I just hate the word. It makes me feel weak. A little voice in my head, on my side for once, whispers _if you are so weak, why did you stand up to him? Why did you send him to jail? Why are you confessing what happened to your friend? That's not weak._ Finally, my craziness supports me for once (like a good bra – support, get it?).

"When I was four. Maybe five." I hedge around the real question – who did it? but Santana's eyes narrow and I know she's caught it.

"When your father came back?" I nod. "He did that to you." I nod again. I don't really know what more she wants me to say. "Why?"

"I don't know." _Yes, you do_. Oh goodie – my brain is against me again. That was fast. Stupid brain… "Shelby gave up on me when she realised that I wasn't Rachel and, I don't know, he thought he could fix me? Make me better? Shelby would flip over the most insignificant things and tell me that Rachel would never have done it. And then Michael would take me to my room and," I shrug. I don't want to say it. Santana blinks and sucks in a breath.

"He hit you." I nod. "With his belt? When you were _four_?"

"No, not at first. When I was younger, it was his hand. He tried to be kind about it and called it discipline but then Shelby started getting worse and he _knew_ that it was all my fault. My fault that Shelby was like that and my fault that she didn't love him and my fault that I wasn't the perfect little girl that they wanted."

In her typical helpful way, Santana snorts. "And Rachel is perfect? Please."

Even though I know she's just trying to cheer me up, I can't help but narrow my eyes at her and I hiss my next words. "Don't you dare. Don't you _dare_ insult her. Not right now. I can deal with it most of the time and let it slide but right now? Right now I'm remembering every single _fucking _hit I was given because I wasn't as good as her and if you tell me that she isn't perfect then it was worth _nothing_. Right now, I'm remembering that Shelby threatened to tell Michael where I live in New York when he gets out of jail for almost killing me. Right now, I'm remembering that I took that upon myself the moment I laid eyes on her because she's my little sister and she _is_ perfect to me so _don't you dare_." I'm standing, I realise, and I'm pressed up against the wall and…oh. I'm crying. Only a little. They are more tears of rage than anything else. And Santana is watching me, face expressionless.

"Jo." I jerk my head in a 'yes'. "I'm sorry. For insulting Rach. You're right – she really is great." I smile up at her and she shrugs. "I don't say it because I'm a hot bitch and I don't have to say that about other people but she really is a good person. And yeah, she can sing." She stands up as well and reaches out towards me but stops before she actually touches me. "Can we, um, stop sharing now? It's a bit intense."

I wipe the tears away with a snort of laughter and nod. "Yeah. Let's stop." But Santana doesn't step away. Instead, she places a hand on my shoulder and one on my waist and I freeze. She steps in close and then _hugs_ me. Santana _hugs_ me. I'm used to it with Britt but not with Santana. My heart lurches and I can feel a goofy smile cross my face. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and squeeze gently. "This was fun," I drawl sarcastically.

"Yeah, let's do it again sometime, okay?" She murmurs against my shoulder. "Only, can Britt join us next time?" I nod into her hair and she sighs. "Cool." We stand there for another long moment and then swiftly extricate ourselves from each other. "Right, I have things to do."

"Yeah, me too. Things. I'm very busy." She strides out of the room and I sink down onto my bed. Christ. Well, _that_ went well. And even though I say it sarcastically, I think that I actually mean it. I've never said any of those things before except to Angelica. I'm so tired now. Who would have thought that purging memories would use so much energy? Good thing I don't have to talk to anyone else.

"Jo?" And I stand corrected. Rachel taps on my open door hesitantly and I force myself to sit up.

"Hey Rach," I say with a smile.

"Can I come in?" I nod. "Dave brought me here. He said, well, the thing is. We need to talk." I nod again. We sure do. There is no way that I am letting Shelby anywhere near my sister and we so need to go over rules and regulations.

SANTANA POV

Britt is still napping on the couch where I left her. I look up for a second when Quinn and Rachel burst into the apartment, followed by Dave. Rachel marches right to Jo's room and Quinn looks after her for a few seconds and then at the couch where we are.

"Can I join you?" She murmurs and I shrug. She flops down on my lap and I shove her off to the floor. She just grins and dusts herself off, settling into one of the other armchairs and curling up.

"You and Berry had a nice fuck at her place?" I leer at her and Quinn fixes me with a look that she's only ever given to the lowest of the low at school. I flinch.

"Don't, Santana," she says coolly. "Rachel isn't like that and I'm not like that." She looks away and I nod. Then I smirk.

"Didn't say you didn't want to though," I laugh. Quinn just shrugs.

"Maybe I'm tired of saying that." She looks up at me from under her lashes and, at the same moment, Britt groans in her sleep and, still asleep, turns around and whacks her head hard onto my lap. I put a hand on her head and stroke her hair.

"Nervous about saying that?" Quinn nods. "First time out aloud?" She nods again, still looking intensely worried. "Cool it, Q. I'm your best friend." God but I've talked about feelings _quite_ enough for one afternoon. Still, one last comment can't hurt. "I'm happy for you, if Rachel makes you happy. But if you hurt Rachel, you hurt Jo, and I will hurt you if you hurt Jo." Quinn gives me a funny look at that but I brush it aside when she nods and smiles.

**Hey guys, I hope that you liked this chapter. I certainly had fun writing it. I thought that a second upload this week was necessary due to the late update of the last chapter. I know this one is short but I thought you guys deserved something. Rachel and Jo chat about Shelby in the next chapter and Santana and Brittany have a chat as well. Only, well, theirs you might not be expecting. Oh, and Quinn and Rachel kiss. HA! Gotcha. Just kidding. Or am I? I guess you'll have to wait and see. On another note, does no one wish to help me improve the readership of this story? For shame, my friends! I'm kidding; but if you have a synopsis of my story and want me to read it I would love to see it. Peace out! Oh yeah – don't forget to review. Seriously. I had, like, 2000 visitors when I posted the last chapter and I would LOVE some more reviews. I know; I'm vain. Le sigh. Oh well, happy reading, readers :)**


	40. Chapter 40

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Forty**

**Glee isn't mine.**

**Please enjoy.**

RACHEL POV

Quinn drives me to Jo's place. She knows there is no way that I'm _not_ going there tonight – not after I saw Dave's face. He looked, well, distraught is the only word that I feel accurately portrays the emotion I saw. After Daddy had announced him, Dave had entered the room and I couldn't help but leap up. Seeing him…seeing him tugged on _something_ inside of me that told me Jo needed me. Right at that moment, Jo needed me. And so, without needing him to say anything at all, I turned to Quinn and she just nodded and led the way down the stairs.

Now, in the car, I can't help but feel bad thinking about how wonderful and how strangely in tune Quinn and I are with each other at such a tense moment. Still, it shouldn't come as too much of a surprise – I've had to watch Quinn for years, assessing her thoughts and moods to remain safe and that has made it much easier to tell what she is thinking now that we are friends. As for her knowing what I'm thinking, well, I've never been _quiet_ about what I want.

And Jo…the tugging feeling resumes even though I'm nearly there and I frown. It could possibly be a psychological phenomenon. Realistically, there is no way that I could be connected to Jo. Still…

Quinn reaches over to me without taking her eyes off the road and takes my hand, squeezing it. She doesn't let go and her hand is small and warm. I stare at it for a little while before squeezing back and looking out my window at the houses and stores flashing past. I don't let go.

We untangle our fingers – which, at some point, threaded together – when we arrive. It was good that Quinn had the foresight to do so because the moment that car is parked I leap out and race up the apartment stairs. Dave had beaten us by a few minutes and he is waiting at the door for me. I open my mouth to ask where she is but he just points at Jo's bedroom door, which opens and shows Santana leaving. She gives me a surprisingly friendly and somewhat distracted smiles and I quickly take her place.

Jo is lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, and I hesitantly tap on the open door.

"Jo?" She sits bolt upright and runs a hand through her hair.

"Hey Rach," she says with an obviously forced smile. I wonder what she and Santana were talking about. They are both so obviously distracted and Jo looks exhausted.

"Can I come in?" She nods. As I walk towards her, I feel the need to, as always, run my mouth. Explain myself. "Dave brought me here. He said, well, the thing is. We need to talk." For once, my words aren't coming out quite right but I think I got the general message across. Jo nods, determined. She clearly has things to discuss with me as well.

My eyes dart over her face. The bags under her eyes are pronounced and she looks so _thin_ and haggard. She looks so incredibly tired. I can't imagine what she must be feeling right now.

"It was Quinn's idea, actually." Her eyes refocus on me and I smile. "We had already decided to come over because she told me," I can feel my cheeks reddening and I know, from her annoying smirk, that Jo can see it too. "She said that I should come talk to you, so you know that you have someone on your side." _Like she is on my side_. I feel myself visibly swoon just remembering the words and Jo's smirk broadens so I keep talking to distract her. Not that she will be distracted. She has the annoying habit of remembering snippets of information and using them against me at a later date. "I would have come earlier; I just needed to talk some things out first." It's my turn to smirk though I'm aware that the smirk isn't quite as sharp or as well developed as Jo's. I'll need to work on that. "We always clash a little when we are worked up, I've found."

Jo barks a laugh and nods. Her eyes crinkle a little at the corners and her lips lift into a (finally) genuine smile. "I guess we do, kiddo." She gestures to her bed, next to her. "Want to sit with me?"

I do. I really do. Ever since she moved out, I've missed being able to go to her and snuggle, talking about my day. So I have to restrain myself from running and jump into her bed, immediately snuggling into her side. She drapes an arm around me and tightly squeezes my shoulders for a moment. We lie side-by-side for a little while before I speak again.

"Jo?" She hums. "Shelby isn't a very nice person, is she?" Jo tenses. I think that lying right next to her is probably a good idea. Her face never really tells me much – she is good, very good, _too_ good at disguising her emotions – but her body tells me enough. She tenses. Her hand starts a slow tattoo on her thigh before she notices and stops.

"No, Rach." Her voice is low and sad. "She isn't."

I nod. "I was so excited to meet her. I thought I'd have to wait until I was eighteen and then she was suddenly _here_ and I couldn't think straight. I was so excited." I don't even care that I'm repeating myself. It's true – even now I feel an evil little thrill (evil, because I know that she is nothing like I wanted or expected) that I've met her. "And then you were standing in her way and," I hesitate. "I was so _angry_."

Jo finally looks at me, her face carefully blank. Behind that careful mask, though, I have the feeling that she is intensely upset. "Angry?" she asks lightly.

"Yes. But I remembered that Dad told me you always had a good reason for doing the things that you do-"

"He said that?" she interrupts, delighted in her surprise, and I grin.

"He did." She smiles, chuffed, and then gestures for me to continue. "Santana and Quinn held me back and I saw…I don't know." Jo watches me carefully. "What exactly happened this afternoon, Jo?"

Jo carefully extracts her arm from around my shoulder and presses her hands together until they tremble from the pressure she is putting on them. I rest my hand on hers and she looks at me warily.

"I have to be honest with you, Rachel."

"Please do," I quip. She doesn't smile, though, and looks back at her hands.

"I didn't come here to tutor. That was only a cover." I take my hand back slowly and she grabs it quickly, her thumb brushing once over the back of my hand before she lets go again. "Rach, please, just listen." I nod.

"Shelby wanted me to get to know you so I could convince you that she was better for you than your dads." I know that I react badly to this. My face falls and she winces and hurries on. "She wanted daily updates, most of which I faked because the moment I laid eyes on you Rach, the very _second_ you spoke to me, I knew that I couldn't do it. You and your dads…they love you so, so much and I just couldn't do it. And you were so excited to have a sister, for _us_ to be sisters, that I knew I couldn't give you to someone as awful as Shelby. I just couldn't do it."

I hear her words and, although I know that she expects me to be furious and lash out, I smile at her. "Jo, don't be silly. You could never hurt me or my dads." This reaction is the best I've ever had from her. Ever. Her jaw _literally_ drops and her eyes widen comically. I can't help it – I start laughing.

"What?"

"_Please_," I snort. "As if you could hurt me." I tap a finger to my chin, faux thoughtfully, and then started counting the ways she helped me on my fingers. "Let's see: you helped me gain a little popularity; you spent your own money on outfitting me appropriately; you took a slushie for me; you beat up a bully who was taunting me; you _broke_ the _slushie_ machine and filled it with snippy little comments that must have taken you hours to write;" Jo grins and shrugs at that, "you rescue me, somewhat unnecessarily, from Quinn when she semi abducted me into the bathroom; you faced my gigantic ex-boyfriend head on when he was acting like a maniac and thought nothing of being knocked unconscious in my defence; you dealt with my irrational behaviour when you moved out; you opened your home to me and my friends; and you faced down your own mother to protect me from god knows what." I pat her shoulder. "I know you. And you would never hurt me."

Jo stares at me for a long, long time before sucking in a deep breath and nodding. "Right. Well. That's not what I expected."

I give her a sneaky little grin and shrug. "You expected me to blow up, didn't you?" She nods, somewhat ashamed. "Don't worry – I thought that I would too when you said that but then…everything you were saying was just 'oh look, I protected you again'." Jo laughs at that, and my mocking tone, and relaxes against the headboard. "What exactly did she want you to do?"

Her head rolls sideways and she judges me for a moment. At least, I think she's judging. She could just be thinking. "You really want to know?" I give her a look which, refined into words, would be something along the lines of 'tell me now or lose a hand'. She shrugs. "Fine. But there isn't much more to it than what I've told you-" My glare intensifies and she holds up her hands. "Okay! Okay, geez. Chill, kiddo." She huffs and wipes her hands on her jeans. "Well, as you know, she planted me as a tutor at McKinley so I could get to know you and convince you that she is great, fantastic, amazing. She wanted me to ruin your relationship with your dads. I don't know how she expected me to do that but she did." Jo shrugs and carries on. "She basically wanted me to tease you with information about her until you were wild with needing to see her."

I frown. "But you didn't do any of that." Jo gives me a weird smile and I frown at her.

"Santana said _exactly_ the same thing. It's funny because you act as if you are nothing alike."

"I am _not_ like her," I say indignantly. "She is crude and occasionally cruel. The only ways in which we are alike are our similarly coloured hair and the fact that we are singers though we have wildly different tones and preferred genres." Jo shrugs and I shake my head to clear it of unnecessary thoughts. She is _distracting_ me. "Shelby sounds positively horrid."

"She is," Jo says easily.

"But," and this is the main thought on my mind at this very moment, "you told me that she was your favourite parent." Jo bites her lip and looks away. Oh ho – no! That isn't going to deter me. Not in the slightest. I adopt a slightly sterner tone and lean forward. "Jo." I wait until she makes eye contact. "If Shelby is horrid and terrifying, what was your father like?"

"You know, funnily enough I have already had this discussion. With Santana. I really don't want to repeat it, please Rach."

I'm tempted to leave it, especially seeing her pleading expression, but I need to know. "I'm sorry Jo. I _need_ to know."

"What? No you don't! That's the silliest thing I've ever heard."

"Is it?" I ask. "Really? Because let me thing – we've fought numerous times since you arrived and I've hurt you each time. I've misunderstood things because I don't know enough about you. And don't even think for a moment that you got away with those shallow question and answers on our sister dates because you _didn't._ Please, Jo, I need you to trust me and I never want to hurt you."

"Fine!" She glares, somewhat seriously, somewhat jokingly, at me and huffs. "His name was Michael and he was one of the worst kinds of people." That's…not what I was expecting. Not exactly. I can feel my heart sinking into my stomach and I feel physically ill. "He was cruel and disguised it by being extremely loving at all other times. He wanted me to be perfect and, when I wasn't, he made sure that I at least wouldn't make the same mistake twice." I think my heart _literally_ broke at that moment. Jo was saying it so, so, matter-of-factly that it seemed like she wasn't even bothered anymore by the fact that he…

"What did he do to you?" Oh god, please tell me he didn't –

"No. He didn't, you know, do _that_." I clench my eyes tightly shut and, after a moment, feel her hand on mine. "He just hit me."

"_Just_?" I screech, outraged. "Oh, yeah, that's fine. He _just_ hit you." I can't sit here anymore. I stand and step off the bed and do what I always do when the energy inside becomes too much to handle. I pace. Finally I stop and glare at her. "Abuse of any form is not okay, Jo. Emotional abuse, which I suspect your mother took part in, is also not okay. It is emotionally and psychologically damaging – at times equal or greater than physical abuse. It is most definitely detrimental to the healthy growth of the individual targeted." Jo nods solemnly, dark eyes watching me carefully. She's swung her legs off the bed and her whole body, I notice, is ready to move. Only now I'm not sure whether it is coincidence or whether it is instinct now. Flight or fight instinct. Readying herself.

"Rachel. It's over, okay? I don't like to dwell on it." I breathe deeply for a little while before nodding sharply.

"Very well. I will respect that. But," I hesitate and she nods for me to continue. "I want you to tell Dad and Daddy." To my relief, she nods after only a short pause.

"They know a little already I think. Your dads are pretty clever." I beam at that and she chuckles. "Plus, I have to talk to them about Shelby." Her gaze suddenly sharpens and she stands to grasp my shoulders. "I need you to listen really carefully to me right now, Rach." I look her in the eyes, surprised by her sudden intensity, and open my mouth to speak but she covers it expertly with a single hand. "No. _Listen_," she says again. "You can't see Shelby. You can't contact her. You can't go with anyone that you don't know, okay? I'm going to talk to Leroy and Hiram in the morning about this but please, listen to me. No matter what, you cannot be alone while she is still a danger. She will not stop until she has you or she's caught." She takes her hand off my mouth. "Do you understand?"

I barely manage to whisper a 'yes' but it seems to be enough for her. She crushes me to her chest in a tight hug and then, almost instantly, has to steady herself on my shoulders when she sways dangerously. I help her sink onto her bed and put a hand on her forehead. She stubbornly shrugs it off.

"I'm fine, really. Just super," she yawns, "super tired." I glance at my watch. It's surprisingly late but I suppose Quinn and I spoke for quite a while and then Jo and I had _this_ intense discussion. No wonder she's exhausted. I'm exhausted too. Jo no doubt sees this because she wriggles over and pulls me down beside her. "Sleep," she murmurs and before my eyes her breath evens out and she is fast asleep.

I can't help but be lulled to sleep by her calm, deep breaths, and curl up next to her.

SANTANA POV

I've been stewing with my thoughts for a while now. We, me Quinn and Dave, are watching some cooking shit on Jo's television. The Hobbit had disappeared into Jo's room a little while ago and I'm getting steadily more and more confused and worked up. Finally, I snap. Quietly. Brittany is still asleep.

"Okay, you need to leave." Dave gives me this bemused look that makes me think he crapped his pants and I jerk my thumb in the direction of his room. "Out, Hulk." Quinn raises her eyebrows when I turn my gaze on her but that doesn't really work on me. "You too, Tubbers."

Either she doesn't want to fight right now (boring) or I look scarier then I think I do but Quinn stands up and lead the way to Dave's room. They start chatting on the way there. Question: when did _they_ get so buddy buddy? Whatever. I have other shit to work out. Like this pounding in my chest that I had successfully ignored up until this moment.

"Britt?" I stroke her face gently and smile. "Sweetie?" She groans, flips over and punches me in the gut. My breath rushes out and I wheeze out another "Britt" which, thankfully, gets her attention and she pulls herself off me and I manage to take a breath.

"Did I hit you again?" she pouts and I nod.

"Just a little," I say. Still wheezing. She grins.

"Can I kiss it better?" Now, normally this would make me the most ecstatically happy girl in the universe and I would tackle Britt and _totally_ get my mack on. But I can't.

"No, not right now Britt. I need to talk to you." She frowns but nods, crossing her legs. I can't believe I'm doing this and, in case I screw this up, I memorise every inch of my girlfriend. God. She is perfect. When she figures out what I am doing, she beams at me and tugs me into a kiss. "I love you," I murmur when I pull away. I rest my forehead on her and, turning, cross my legs like hers so we are reflections of each other. "I love you, Britt."

I don't know what she hears but she pulls away, eyes already watering. "Why are you saying it like that?" She brushes her tears aside and stares at me, silently begging me not to break her heart. I have to try my best.

"I want you to remember it."

"Are you going somewhere?" I shake my head no. "Are you breaking up with me?" Another shake. "Are you sick or dying?" A third shake. "Then why are you saying it like that?" I reach out and take her hand and, although I know she wants to not hold it until she knows that we are okay, we can never not hold each others hands. I can't even conceive of never holding her hand again.

I stroke her hand lightly as I consider what I want to say. "Britt, I want to give this a real go." She beams and tries to throw herself at me but I don't let her hug me just yet. "And that includes talking about our feelings? Right?" She nods. "I have something I need to tell you. I… I have feelings for someone else."

Brittany's face closes off and she eyes me warily. "You're in love with someone else?"

"I don't know. I think, maybe? I really like them."

"Do you still love me?" Her voice is tiny and I can't help gasping.

"Britt, of course! I love you more than anything else in the world. I love you more than ducks."

"I love ducks," she reminds me. "You just like them because I like them." I smile at my beautiful, genius girl.

"That's true. I love you more than my reputation." Her eyes widen. I can't blame her. My reputation is exactly the reason that we haven't come out yet at school. That's basically the equivalent of telling her that I would willingly, happily give up anything that I am for her. And I would. I've known that forever. "I love you like my forever."

"You are my forever," she whispers. We are silent until she asks her next question. "Who is it?"

I look away. "You don't have to worry about her, Britt. I'd never do anything. Ever. I would _never_ cheat on you, I swear." She nods but watches me. "Please, Britt-Britt. You have to believe me."

"But you love her."

"I don't know." And, strangely enough, Britt frowns at her hands and fidgets slightly. It means that she has something to tell me and she's feeling guilty about it. "Britt?"

"I love someone too." Okay, I know this isn't fair of me seeing as I love someone and Britt seems relatively okay with it at the moment but the second those words come out of her mouth, Snix roars and jumps at the opportunity to come out to play. Only Britt's reassuring hand on my heart stops me. "Wait! Sanny, wait. What if," she bites her lip. "What if the people we love were the same person?"

I stop dead still. I actually think my heart stopped beating. "What?" I croak out. "What are you saying?"

Britt blushes. "You love Jo, right?" It's like she's thrown something in my face. And, well, she kind of has. My secret – possibly only twenty minutes old, possibly having developing since she first arrived – was flung in my face. When I don't say anything, Brittany shrugs. "I love Jo, too."

"I, I don't understand," I stutter. "What are you suggesting?" Because I _know_ what Puckerman would be suggesting and, to tell the truth, I'm thinking it too, but Brittany is different. She sees things differently and I want to know what it is.

"Well, if we both love her, and she loves both of us, and we all love each other, what is stopping us?" The obvious answers of one – the law, and two – general social acceptance, spring to mind but they seem so little in comparison to Brittany's certainty.

"So, you want us to try?"

Brittany frowns and bites her lip. "I think that it'll happen if it is meant to. But, Sanny," she beams at me, "no matter what, _we_ will always be together." I pull Britt sharply to me and kiss her fiercely.

"Fuck yeah we will. You're my girl."

Kissing back with equal ferocity, Britt grins. "And you're mine." Naturally, just when I think we are getting to something good, Britt stands and takes my hand. "I want to see Jo." I feel the blood rush from my head and Britt catches me before I fall, smoothing my high pony. "Sanny, no. I won't say anything to her. She's not ready. I just want to see her. And I'm tired and her bed is big."

Knowing that we aren't going to do this _now_, especially since I'm not certain, I stand, recovered, and take her into Jo's room. My friend and Berry are curled up in the centre and I march over, rolling Berry to the other side so Britt and I can lie on either side of Jo. Being the creepy super agent that she is, Jo sits up the second Rachel is moved and stares at us with wide eyes. Britt hushes her before she can speak though and eases her back down to the mattress.

"Shush, Jo-Jo. We're going to sleep, kay?" Britt's eyes meet mine and she brushes a kiss over Jo's forehead. Snix is totally calm – weird. Britt leaps in to cuddle Jo and the girl offers both arms – one to each of us (after checking that I hadn't killed Rachel. I want to though. She snores.) and pulls us in tight. I swear, a second later she is out. Britt giggles and rests her head on Jo's arm. I feel for the girl. Her arms will be completely dead come morning.

THIRD PERSON POV

When Brittany wakes up the next morning, Jo is gone. The blonde pokes Santana immediately until she wakes and together the couple venture outside to find Jo cooking breakfast for the hordes.

"Hey! Good morning," she husks quietly. Her smile is slightly too wide and too tight, her fingertips are shaking just a little, and she won't meet their eyes for long. This is what Brittany sees; that and more. And in her mind she makes connections that others can't possibly follow. And she acts.

"Jo-Jo, go back to sleep." Jo smiles at her again, particularly at the nickname she had forgotten from the night before, but shakes her head.

"No, I'm making breakfast." Absorbed in talking to Brittany as she was, Jo failed to see Santana making her way slowly toward her. San reaches out to take the spatula – currently dishing out stacks of the most perfect pancakes ever seen onto numerous plates – from Jo's hand and the older woman flinches minutely but it is enough for Santana.

"Please, Jo. Go back to sleep."

"No!" She refuses. "I made a nice, vegan breakfast for Rach, and look! Britt's pancakes have a smiley face of fruit! There's maple syrup and sugar and cinnamon and-"

"Where did you get all of this?" asks Quinn, who mysteriously appears at the kitchen. "Your pantry was bare last night. I know because Dave and I had to order take away." Santana glares at her and Quinn shrugs. "What? You were all asleep in a cute little pile." The girl reaches out to pinch her friend's cheek and recoils when nails/talons scratch her. Quinn protects her hand, holding it against her chest. "Mean, Santana. That was mean." Said girl smirks and turns back to Jo, who is again stacking pancakes.

"Jo? Where did you get the food?" She glances at the clock – it's only six in the morning. "And when did you get it?"

Jo doesn't even look up from the food. "There is a 24 hour store a couple of blocks away. That's where I got it."

"When?"

"A couple of hours ago. I didn't want to wake you up too early because then you'd be crabby. Oh!" She darts off to the pantry and drags out coffee. Santana is successfully distracted. "Let me make you some coffee."

Britt grabs Jo's wrist and tugs her away from the kitchen. "Jo. You have to go back to sleep. You're exhausted." She lightly traces the curve of the deep, purple bags under Jo's eyes and cups a cheek. "How long did you sleep last night?"

Jo's gaze shifts away from her friend and she shrugs. "I don't know. A few hours."

She doesn't stand a chance. Brittany and Santana gang up on her and push and shove her back into her bedroom. Brittany wakes and moves Rachel while Santana shoves Jo onto her bed, threatening to tie her there if she dares to move. They wait for the five minutes it takes for Jo to fall asleep. Santana grumbles the whole time that it would be faster if they just hit her over the head. Jo, before she succumbs to sleep, gives her the finger.

**What, what? **_**Another**_** chapter? I don't even know what's going on. I just needed these chapters over – I had to have them done. Coming up next: where is Shelby? And what is she plotting for our dear girls? Also, super dads Leroy and Hiram get in on the action. Stay tuned for the next episode of 'Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister!' Love you – please review. Happy reading, readers :)**


	41. Chapter 41

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Forty-One**

**Glee isn't mine.**

**Please enjoy. **

JO POV

I am so tired. I _shouldn't_ though – I've slept and eaten and all of that. But I feel so heavy and tired and my eyes are aching. Relief only comes when I close them and press the heels of my palms to my eye sockets and the pressure is just enough that it sort of counters the pain.

The shouting doesn't help either.

"What do you mean Shelby is psychotic?"

"Why didn't you tell us this earlier?"

"What has she done?"

"What will she do?"

"What does she want?"

"Don't you trust us?"

"Can't-"

"That is _enough_!" Rachel bellows. "Dad, Daddy," she continues in a milder tone, "while I approve of your somewhat dramatic interrogation of Jo, if only because of the accuracy of questions asked and the necessity of them and their pertinence to the discussion as well as the—"

"Get on with it, Hobbit!" Santana growls. I kick her.

"Of course. I'm sorry, Santana. My point is that, firstly, if you do not allow Jo to answer your questions then you will simply overwhelm her and those questions will not be answered and, secondly, you are giving her a headache so please calm down and ask her like the two highly intelligent and civilised gentlemen that you are."

When their bums hit their chairs, Rachel nods to them and sits primly on her couch next to Quinn. "Thank you."

I give her a smile and, drawing upon my above average memory, I begin to answer their questions.

"Hiram. By 'psychotic' I mean that she suffers from psychosis, which is a severe mental disorder in which thought and emotions are so impaired that contact with external reality is lost," I recite from my memory of the dictionary definition. "Shelby is overwhelmed with her thoughts and emotions regarding Rachel that her actions resemble that of someone suffering from said mental disorder. Leroy, I didn't tell you any of this earlier due to two reasons. One, you told me that you didn't want Shelby mentioned, which I used to my advantage so I wouldn't have to tell you about her. Two, I," I sigh and look down, slightly ashamed. "I thought I had it under control. It's been a long time since I've had people who have been willing to help me so I never even considered telling you."

Brittany scoots over on the couch we are sharing with Santana and squeezes my hand. I smile at her and continue. "Hiram, Shelby has done all manner of things in her life but most pertinent to this setting is that she has been obsessed with Rachel almost since the moment she gave her up to you. Leroy, I don't know what she'll do. I have several theories – she will try to talk to Rachel again and convince her to go with her to New York; she will forcibly take her; or she will somehow trick Rachel into going with her."

I don't mention that I think it's possible – in her fragile (read: insane) state of mind – that Shelby will hurt Rachel if she won't go with her. I refuse to let that happen.

"Jo, do you think she is capable of hurting Rachel?" Leroy asks hesitantly, unknowingly echoing my own thoughts. I don't look at Rachel when I nod.

"I think it's possible, sir. She isn't well and I can't predict exactly what she'll do. It's safer, for us and for Rachel, to assume that Rachel is not safe with her and that we face considerable risk. Rachel is what she is after, Hiram. She's fixated on her."

Hiram nods, his eyes and expression grave. "And Leroy's last question, Jo? Don't you trust us?" I fidget slightly and look away.

"I'm sure you've probably guessed this already but I haven't had much cause to trust people, Hiram." The whole room nods – even Rachel, whom I had hoped to keep my dysfunctional attitude mostly hidden from – and I grimace. "That being said," I try a smile, "I do trust you or I wouldn't have told you any of this. If I didn't love," I'm proud at how I don't even stutter over the word despite its unfamiliarity, "you guys as much as I do, I would have been on the first plan back to New York the moment she got here. As it is, you're stuck with me." I shrug. "Sorry."

"There is no one I would rather have by my side, Jo." Jesus, Rachel is still so dramatically emotional. I'd forgotten exactly how intense she could be, what with Quinn hogging her all the time and not living with her anymore. More importantly, when Rachel said that, I saw Quinn's face fall a little before she fixes it into place. I withhold a grin. It's no fun to mock the girl when she's so repressed.

"What are we going to do?" Leroy sounds as tired as I feel. He rubs a hand over his head and neck and sits far into his armchair.

"I think the answer is quite obvious," Rachel supplies.

Santana, who, other than barking at Rachel that once, has been quiet, rolls her eyes and spits out a "duh! Berry goes nowhere without a Gleek escort. We organise shifts depending on the classes we share. It'll be easy." She shrugs at Rachel's incredulous stare. "I know I'm hot, Berry, but you don't gotta stare."

"Can I stare?" Brittany asks.

"'Course you can, Britt." She leans over to peck Britt on the cheek and, simultaneously, Rachel and Quinn 'aww' at them. Though I suspect that Quinn's 'aww' is less genuine and 100% dedicated to annoying Santana.

"Are you sure about this, Santana?" Rachel ventures. "Not that I don't appreciate the gesture, because I do, I just don't wish to encroach upon your social life in the slim chance that Shelby will actually be trying to kidnap me." I don't appreciate the lack of seriousness that Rachel is attaching to this scenario.

"Rachel. This isn't a joke. Shelby isn't going to stop until she has you." She looks at me and slowly reclines into her chair. Hopefully, the seriousness of my face has re-established how she should be treating this.

"I've already got it figured out, Hobbit. Quinn will be with you in the morning and in homeroom. You'll have Tina in Maths, Puck in Biology, Mike and Tina in Geography, and at least Quinn in your other classes. Jo will look after you at lunch, plus whoever wants to waste their time with you. On Glee afternoons, you drive home with Quinn. Cheerio afternoons, you go home with Jo. Got it?"

Rachel frowns at my friend. "How do you know my timetable?" Santana shrugs, sending Quinn a quick smile.

"I know everyone's timetable that I need to. Plus, yours is kind of similar to Britt's so whatever."

Rachel nods slowly and I nod as well, in deference to Santana and her well considered plan. She accepts the nod like she's a fucking Queen or something and, instead of smacking her like I want to, I just roll my eyes. God, that girl gets on my nerves sometimes.

Britt smiles at me and snuggles into my side, still holding my hand. I don't think much of it—I mean, when _doesn't_ Britt want to touch someone? Granted, she touches San way more than anyone else, but I'm a pretty close second, I think. Anyway, I don't think much of her touching until I look up and see Santana watching us closely. Thinking. She doesn't look jealous yet but I get that their 'out' relationship is new so I take my hand out of Britt's and give it back to her, moving away slightly. She is about to say something when Rachel shakes her head.

"No, no, that won't work. What about my other classes?"

"_What_ other classes, Berry?" Santana asks with a glare. I feel bad for Rach because I'm fairly sure that glare was intended for me. I should have a discussion with my girls – I don't mean to move in on Britt. Really, I don't.

"Ballet and voice," Rachel says, not at all fazed by the glare. "I have them when the Cheerios practise on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons." Santana glares at the floor – poor floor - and I purse my lips thoughtfully. I have tutoring those afternoons, the girls are all at practise, Puck is at football…

"What about Dave?" Britt asks, while insinuating herself at my side again. I give up. "He likes Rachie and he hates the scary lady." I smile at Britt and her description of Shelby but shake my head.

"He's at football," I remind her.

"Oh, he's quitting," she states with absolute certainty. I frown. I didn't know that. "Yeah, some of the football guys found out that he was in Glee and that he's a unicorn and they haven't been very nice to him so he's quitting."

My frown deepens and I pull out my phone to text him. I can't believe that he didn't tell me! Then again, I haven't been _great_ company lately. Guilt slams into me suddenly and, to counter it, Brittany hugs me around my waist.

"He loves you, Jo-Jo. He didn't hide it from you, he was just worried about you so he didn't tell you."

"He shouldn't _have_ to tell me, Britt. I should have known."

"Pah!" Santana snorts. "Like you could have known. He hid that he was a unicorn for years, like he couldn't hide that some guys had punched him from you. Especially since you hadn't slept all week." I concede to that as well but it hurts that I hadn't been there for him.

"Can't help everyone, Jo," Quinn says and, well, I'll give her this. She wasn't being mean. (What? I can hold a grudge if I want to. She _did _get me beaten up.) (Okay, I'll admit that it's been a while and I should at least try to be on good terms with her.) She was being nice so I nod to her and slide my phone back into my pocket. I'll talk to him tonight.

"Okay, so Rachel drives with Dave on Tuesdays and Thursdays." I look around and am greeted with six nods. (I'd forgotten that Hiram and Leroy were there and listening to every word we spoke.) "I think we've got the roster all sorted out then. Santana, you can text the Gleeks and tell them what's up?" She nods, waving her phone, so I gather that she was already doing it. "Great. In that case, Rachel, hop up. I have something very important to show you."

She jumps to her feet and I lock eyes with her. "Rachel, if Shelby, or someone else for that matter, comes for you then the first thing I want you to do is run. Got that?" She nods. "Good. If you _can't_ run and you have to fight, then I want you to remember this. I'm going to show you the very basics of self-defence and I need you to remember. San, can you help me?" Santana stands warily next to me and I turn to her. "Rach, you'll appreciate this. This is the SING method of self defence."

"Do I sing to them a highly emotive song and hope that they will leave?" I glare.

"No. SING. S – solar plexus." I motion a punch towards Santana's solar plexus and, when she doesn't react, I glare harder and she, rolling her eyes, pretends to be winded. "I – instep." I step on her foot and she pulls it up. "N – neck." I gently karate chop her neck and she touches it, standing upright, and I finish with the G. "G – groin." I put a hand on either shoulder and knee her in the groin. Santana dutifully falls to the ground. The second she touches the carpet, however, she is up and back on the couch, pulling out her nail file and glaring at us – me and Rachel – with disdain. "Thank you Santana."

I turn back to Rachel, who is murmuring the words to herself. "Solar plexus, instep, neck, groin. Solar plexus, instep, neck, groin." I nod.

"Got it?" She smiles and nods, returning to her couch and to Quinn, still mumbling the words. "Great. In that case-"

I'm cut off by Leroy who jumps up and claps his hands. "Santana, Brittany, would you go and take Hiram into the kitchen and help him make breakfast? Thank you." Britt drags Santana into the kitchen and Leroy turns to Quinn and Rachel. "Rachel, please take Quinn up to your rooms. I'm sure you have a lot to discuss." Rachel just nods and the girls leave. He turns to me. "Jo," he takes a step forward. "I have something I would like to discuss with you."

"Look, Leroy, I'm tired and I have a headache. I'm happy to discuss Shelby and Rachel's safety with you but can it be some other time?"

He looks at me for a while and I know that he is appraising me, judging me. "That's not what I wanted to discuss, but I appreciate the offer." I purse my lips. Damn. "Please sit," he gestures to my favourite armchair and I sit, pulling my legs up under me. "Jo," he sits and leans forward and braces his forearms against his knees so he can watch me with what feels like three times his normal intensity. "Since you have come to live with us, Hiram and I have come to enjoy your company very much. " He says this very calmly and I half smile with confusion.

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome. We have noticed some habits that are peculiar to you, namely your sleeping habits and emotional-"

"Leroy?" He pauses at my interruption and smiles, waiting for me to speak. "Don't project Rachel and go all technical word-y on me. Just say what you want to say, okay?"

With my permission, Leroy leaves all his calm control behind and leans forward even more until I'm afraid that he's going to pitch forward onto the floor. His eyes brighten.

"We love you very much," he gushes. "And we want to help you." I try to be offended that they think I need 'help' but he's so wide-eyed and sincere that I just smile. Plus, who doesn't like to be told that someone, two somebodys rather, loves you? (A Grinch, that's who.) "You're such a wonderful sister and friend to Rachel. I have never seen her happier than she has been since you've arrived and I know, _we _know, that it is largely due to you and your help. So thank you."

I nod and murmur a 'you're welcome' (though I do strongly believe that some of Rachel's starry eyed happiness is due to someone whose name is similar to 'Queen Fabgay'). "She makes it easy, Leroy."

He beams and continues. "Hiram told me some time ago that he thought you might not have had the happiest childhood." _He would not be wrong, _I thought. And then, looking at Leroy, I say it again, out aloud.

"He wouldn't be wrong."

"Oh, Jo, I'm so sorry." His gushing, which at first made me feel like he'd hugged me with words, was now making me slightly uncomfortable. I shake my head.

"Don't be sorry, Leroy. You have _nothing_ to apologise for. I've absolutely loved my time here and the time I've spent with you."

Leroy's face glows at this – I fucking kid you not. It's like he has a light bulb in his mouth and light is pouring out of every pore. He is radiant. I smile. Pleasing him is so easy.

"Jo, Hiram and I have been discussing something for a while now and I would like to make an offer, which you are free to accept or decline in your own time." He takes a deep breath. "Jo, I know that you are no longer a minor and there is no reason to do this other than, well, the fact that we want to…" he stutters.

I reach over and pat his hand. "Come on, Leroy. What is it?"

"We want to adopt you!" he blurts out and I freeze, my hand clenching over his.

"I'm sorry, you want to what?" My voice raises an octave and breaks embarrassingly in my surprise.

"We want to adopt you," he repeats. Oh goodie. I thought I was hearing things. "We want you to be a part of this family. Now, you don't have to answer straight away. We completely understand that this is a decision that shouldn't be entered into lightly. Still, we hope that you will at least consider it and keep in mind that even if you decline, we will still love you just as much and we will _always_ consider you our daughter."

He stops to take a breath and I unfreeze. His speech, so like Rachel's in that he didn't breath throughout it, amuses me in its rambling. I squeeze his hand.

"Yes." Leroy tilts his head to the side.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I want that. I would like to be adopted." It's Leroy's turn to freeze now but he recovers at super speed and leaps to his feet, pulling me into a hug.

"_Hiram! Hiram she said yes,_" he shrieks, possibly bursting my ear drums. Hiram joined us immediately; I suspect the use of teleportation because he wasn't there one moment and then was hugging us tightly the next.

"What's going on?" Rachel asks, pausing in the doorway to the living room. My heart beats hard and then stutters with fear. _Does Rachel know? I don't want to agree to this without her okay._

"She agreed!" Leroy shrieks. Rachel frowns before a tentative smile breaks out and she looks at her dads.

"Does that mean…" she lets the question trail off into the air and I roll my eyes, somewhat reassured that, yes, she does want this as well.

"What? Not expecting me to accept, kiddo?"

"Well, we _have_ fought an awful lot and I suppose I'm still somewhat insecure concerning myself and how I might affect your accepting our proposal because I was afraid that I would scare you off with my intensity, talent, and at times, the annoying habits I show."

"All true," I say solemnly, making her face fall. Guilt pokes me so I smile gently at my little sister (soon to be full sister, no longer just a half-sister relation through some twist of fate). "Don't worry, Rach, I'm staying because your dads are cool." At that, she glowers at me… and then pouts, crossing her arms and stamping her foot.

"That's not funny." Leroy and Hiram _finally_ let me go and I close the distance between myself and my baby sister, hugging her tightly to me. She squeals and lets me swing her around.

"Rach. You are the best sister in the whole wide world and," I pause but, what the hell? I told Leroy and Hiram, didn't I? "and I love you very, very much. I _want_ to be your sister."

"You are my sister no matter what," she points out matter-of-factly. "We share half of our genetic make-up with Shelby."

I scowl and poke her side. "Stop being clever. You know what I mean."

"And I mean what I said. You don't have to do this if you don't want to. You'll always be my sister," she says, echoing Leroy's earlier statement.

"I want to."

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes_! For Moses's sake, Rachel! I _want_ to be a Berry, okay?"

"What kind of berry?" Brittany asks from the doorway. "Because I really like raspberries and I think that strawberries are really yummy but then I looked at them closely and they have tiny little hairs all over them and I think that's weird. They still taste nice though."

I grin and Santana smiles at her girlfriend, kissing her on the cheek and wrapping her arms around her waist from behind. "She's going to be a Jo Berry, babe." The moment she says it, Britt's eyes shine and she grins mischievously.

"Oh goodie. I like berry jam sandwiches."

Okay, is it just me or did she say _san_-dwiches? No – bad Jo! That's the smutty side of your brain coming out to play! (Hehe, coming out to play. If _that_ isn't a sleazy comment, I don't know what is.)

"Jo?" I break out of my brain's gutter and turn to Rachel. "Dad and Daddy have the papers here." I then turn to Leroy and Hiram who, sure enough, are placing little stacks of paper on the table. Those stacks positively beckon me closer, closer, and I find myself seated in front of them.

Hiram places a pen reverently on the stack directly in front of me and gives me his equivalent of a Berry beam (Rachel and Leroy have the same smile; Hiram's is somewhat more reserved) and lays a hand on my shoulder.

"Jo, these are emancipation papers. If you sign here and here-" I shake my head.

"No need. I emancipated from my parents when I was eighteen. Next!" I grabbed the pen and clicked it repeatedly. Hiram and Leroy share a look – damn that parental bond – before Hiram grabs the stack in front of me and shoves it aside.

"Wonderful. That just speeds up the process. In that case, these are the papers for my adoption of you. Sign here and here and here," he points to each of the lines marked with a red tag. "The green ones are where I will sign."

Leroy leans over my shoulder and taps the second stack. "And these are the papers for my adoption. Sign here and here and here and I will sign the yellow tabs." I sign each line with a growing feeling of…something that feels like I've drunk too much soda and I'm about to hiccup or burb or float away.

"What's the third pile for? I don't have to adopt Rach or something do I?" I joke. Leroy and Hiram smile but share _another_ look.

"We, um, we weren't sure about this one but we got the papers anyway. It's, well," he places the papers in front of me and my eyes widen.

"A name change application form?"

"Only if you want!" Hiram insists, Leroy nodding furiously next to him.

"So…I can be Josephine Berry legally, right?" They nod. I grab the papers and pull them towards me and write 'Josephine Corcoran' for what I hope is the last time. Under that, I happily write 'Josephine Berry' and sign with a flourish. I drop the pen to the table with what I feel is my very own Berry beam (being now, of course, part of the family. Mine is more like Hiram's, I think – reserved and small. That's cool with me. Rachel can be Leroy's little girl and I can be Hiram's. You know, other than the fact that I'm not black…or tanned at all.)

"Don't you think this is a little rushed?" Quinn volunteers and I smile at her. She's taken aback, naturally. I doubt that I've smiled at her before. Right now, I don't care who I'm smiling at. Hell, I'd smile at my father if he were here—mockingly, and with intense hatred, but a smile nonetheless.

"Quinn, I've waited sixteen years to be someone else. I've tried for sixteen years to be free of Shelby and in one fell swoop, I am a Berry _and_ free of her name and influence. This is the least rushed decision of my life, trust me."

Rachel smirks from where she is standing with her fathers. "You are _so_ my sister," she states gleefully. "You just used the phrase 'one fell swoop' in common parlance."

I grin at her and she hugs me tightly before letting go and, of course, leaving to stand next to Quinn. I look over at my soon-to-be fathers, shyly opening my arms for a hug. I shouldn't have been shy, or nervous, because they step forward and wrap me up in their arms instantly. Then they squeeze until I have to hit them on their shoulders and backs to make them let go.

"Crap!" Santana suddenly swears. "Now I have to come up with a new nickname for Berry – ugh. Rachel." She frowns. "Thanks a lot, Berry. Ugh. _Jo."_ She crosses her arms and scowl-pouts, an expression that only Santana could perfect.

While everyone laughs at Santana, I watch Rachel. She's so extraordinarily happy at this moment…I let myself smile but inside, I swear that I will never let Shelby ruin this. Leroy hugs me to his side as he teases Santana and I lean against him.

_I'm not letting her take this from me. No matter what happens, she isn't getting this. _

QUINN POV

It's been a worrying couple of days and there have been no sightings of Shelby anywhere. Jo is worried. I'm worried. Santana and Brittany and Leroy and Hiram are worried and I'm worried that they are going to fret themselves to fatigue. Rachel isn't worried enough, which, you guessed it, worries me.

I'm so worried that, when Coach shouts at me, I fall from the top of the pyramid. The spotters catch me but I almost wish they hadn't when I see Coach Sylvester's murderous look.

After practice, I am tired and sweaty and in so much pain it's laughable (admittedly, only to someone as deliriously in pain as I am). Coach Sylvester had made me run suicides until the end of practice, a full hour. Added to the pain of the knee I jarred when I fell, my whole body aches and I just want to sleep. And maybe watch a movie with Rachel as we try to finish our homework.

I pull my phone out of my bag as I go to change and stare at it. **17 missed calls.** Crap. I knew that the pain that has settled into every muscle couldn't have been the bad thing that everything was building up to because I know that, if anything, the universe is unjustly cruel—and then my phone rings again. Mike. He's supposed to be watching Rachel. I stare at it, at his name flashing on the screen. Britt and Santana sidle up to me and stare at the phone as well.

"Are you going to answer that, Quinn?" Brittany asks. I shake my head. I can't. It's going to be something horrible. "Okay." She darts forward and picks up my phone, pressing answer. "Hello, Quinn's phone." She listens for a moment and then she does something I have never seen before. She screams. "What?!" And then she swears. Santana looks vaguely proud behind her concern. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Did you leave your brain behind this morning and fill it with shit? What were you doing? Trying to suck the Goth out of Tina? Get the fuck off the phone and keep looking!" She slams her thumb down on end call and I blink at her.

Brittany pants for a second, expending the rest of her aggression by glaring at the phone, and then peers up at us timidly. She flings herself at Santana. I catch the words 'so proud' and 'great insults' before I hold up my hand to stop Santana's murmurings.

"Britt? What was that?" She looks at me and the bottom of my stomach drops away. I feel like I'm falling and that air is rushing past my ears. I feel sick. "Britt?" I whisper. Her face tightens like she's trying not to cry.

"Rachie's missing. Mike lost her on the way to dance class."

They don't bother to get dressed. Santana only has her skirt and a sports bra on and Brittany is in short shorts and her bra. I hadn't started undressing, thankfully, and I throw their shirts at them as they make to leave the locker room. Santana rolls her eyes and Brittany pouts, sneaking one last look at Santana's, well, Santana before they both pull on the tops.

Santana speeds out of the lot and I'm on my phone as Britt buckles up my seatbelt for me. "_Come on,_" I urge. "Pick up, Jo. Pick up." The phone clicks and a distracted Jo answers.

"Jo Berry's phone," (the memory of the papers being filed two days ago is a good one but I quash it and blurt out what's wrong.

"Jo, it's Quinn. Rach is missing." There is silence on her end of the phone except for a soft exhale of breath. Then she speaks but not to me.

"I'm sorry, Damien, but there's been a family emergency. I have to go. Do you think you can keep going without me?" Her voice is distant and I feel that she has pulled the phone away from her mouth to speak to her student. There are a few murmurs and then, "great, thanks. Thank your mother, please, for the afternoon tea. See you next week." Shuffling of papers, a bag being zipped, and a door closing are the soundtrack to Jo's exodus of the house. She then presses the phone to her face again.

"Where are you, Quinn?" I glance out the window but the road signs speed past – or rather, Santana speeds past them – and I can't catch the names.

"I don't know. We're on our way to Mike and Tina at the dance studio." Jo makes a clicking noise and I hear her car door slam.

"I'm on my way. Be there in five." We both hang up and I slip the phone into my bag before grabbing onto the seat in front of me.

"San," I say but she snarls wordlessly.

"I'm driving as fast as I can, bitch. I'm not killing us. That won't help our midget. So if you want to get there in one piece I suggest that you shut the fuck up." I nod and she meets my eyes for a second in the rear view mirror, silently apologising. I nod again. She gets aggressive when worried. Or angry. Or scared. Or happy. She's an aggressive person.

I close my eyes tightly, trying _not_ to imagine Rachel being taken by the psychotic Shelby, but the images of a frightened, alone, hurt Rachel flash before my eyes. I squeeze my eyes tighter.

"Quinn. Get out." My eyes jump open and, a fleeting second later, my body jumps out of the car. The dance studio. Mike and Tina are loitering outside. I lunge at them because this is _all their fault_! They had one thing to do – _one thing_ – and that was to make sure Rachel got to her dance studio, take her inside to her class, wait for her to finish, and then escort her back home. Okay, sure, _technically_ that's four things, not one, but they didn't even accomplish one of them.

Brittany holds me back until I wear myself out trying to claw them into many tiny, tiny pieces (which happens quickly, exhausted as I am from Cheerio practice). Then, to my delight, Jo arrives.

She flings herself out of her car and, much like I did, lunges at the pair of now petrified Asians. Santana tackles her, forcing her back a couple of steps, and wraps her arms around Jo until she stops struggling. She doesn't stop struggling. Santana murmurs into her ear and suddenly Jo is as stiff and still as a plank of wood – but her face, thunderous and glaring at the pair of idiots still – is as bladder-voidingly terrifying as it was before.

"Mike. Tina," she greets them with a nod. "Where is Rachel?" They whisper and Jo's face becomes even darker. "I don't think you want me any angrier than I am right now so I suggest that you tell me what I need to know to find my sister at an audible level. Otherwise, I won't be responsible for what might happen to you. Say, while you're sleeping. Or out for a jog." She grins and I flinch, even though the sinister teeth baring isn't aimed at me.

"We don't know where she is!" Mike practically vomits the words in his rush to avoid being painfully dismembered.

"Where did you loose her?"

"She drove out of the school parking lot before we did and then we were stuck in traffic. We thought that she would come straight here so we drove here but her car wasn't here." Tina and Mike shared identical anxious looks. "We called Quinn and Santana but they were in practice."

"You didn't call me," Jo says. Tina shudders.

"I'm sorry, Jo."

"I don't want _apologies._ I want to know why you didn't call me."

"We don't have your number!" Mike says, pulling Tina against him, and slightly behind him. He still looks scared but he obviously isn't impressed by the way that Jo is intimidating Tina.

Jo nods. "Fair enough. What did you do after you saw she wasn't here?"

Tina spoke up again from behind Mike. "I told Mike to keep calling Quinn and Santana just in case they picked up."

"I called Rachel as well, but her phone was turned off." Jo's face pales and I feel my own follow suit. Rachel never turns her phone off. She says that she would never deny herself the opportunity of social interaction, having so little of it in the first place.

"Jo?" Santana says. "I'm going to let go of you now. Don't attack Asian Fusion." Jo nods distractedly and Santana releases her. Tina and Mike take a step back, cautiously, but Jo doesn't move a millimetre. She just stares intently at the ground, frowning. "Jo, Britt and I are going to drive around and see if we can find Rachel's car. Britt will call the other Gleeks and I can threaten some Cheerios into helping as well." She touches Jo's shoulder. "We _will_ find her."

I step to follow Santana but it is Brittany who shakes her head. "No, Quinn. Sanny and I will do this. You stay with Jo-Jo and find Rachie. Okay?" I nod.

My friends disappear and I scrutinise my glee companions. Time for Head Bitch to come out to play. "Mike. Did you recognise any of the cars nearby?" He shakes his head immediately, but I fix him with a glare. "_Think_ about it. Go over everything. If you saw anything that you recognised, _anything_, tell me. Go stand over there and think about it." I point at the wall of the dance studio and he obediently moves to stare at the blank wall, brow furrowed in thought.

"Tina, did you talk to Rachel's dance instructor?" She nods.

"Rachel never showed up."

"She wouldn't have just driven away," Jo interjects. "She isn't stupid. Rachel definitely would have come here." I nod. "That means that something had to have happened here. Tina," she turns sharp eyes on the girl. "I need you to come with me. We're going to talk to the kids in the class. One of them had to have seen something."

I interrogate Mike while they are gone but we turn up nothing. He apologises again and again and I sigh, my head pounding, and pat his shoulder. "Don't beat yourself up, Mike. This isn't your fault. You and Tina did the best you could." He nods miserably and sags against the wall. I crash next to him.

"This isn't your fault either," he says, smiling as best he can at this moment. "You were at practice. There was nothing you could have done." _I could have quit Cheerios. I could have been by her side every moment._ "I mean, other than quitting Cheerios and being by her side every moment but that would be creepy."

"Creepy?" I laugh.

"Yeah. I mean, it's cool that you're so close but people need space too. Besides, when you spend time away from each other, the time spent together is always better." He smiles broader now. "I always feel like that when I'm away from Tina."

"Okay Mike, two things. One, Rachel has potentially been _kidnapped_, we aren't just spending a little time apart and two, we aren't dating. It's not the same." I see a little flicker of surprise before he shrugs.

"Well, you know. Dating or not, it's similar." I frown.

"You thought we were dating," I state.

"Sorry?" He offers. "I mean, you weren't friends and then you were really close and then you kind of don't spend any time apart and when I talk to Rachel she always mentions you and she smiles really big – her show smile but bigger – and she looks really happy. And when I talk to you, it's the same thing except less obvious because Rachel shows everything and you used to show nothing but now you show more and I'm sorry please don't kill me?" His speech – literally the _longest_ thing I've ever heard him say – ends in a terrified whimper and I smile, ignoring him for the moment.

He thought we were dating. _Well aren't you_? my mind asks. _You talk about everything, she cooks for you, you share secrets, you've slept in the same bed, you watch movies together and cuddle and bicker. You're practically dating. Oh, not to mention that you _really_ like her._ _The only thing missing is that you haven't asked her yet._

Suddenly the situation hits me harder than ever and I'm terrified for Rachel. For _my_ Rachel. Because I like her – a lot – and she's gone and what if I never get to tell her?

Jo strides out of the dance studio, Tina trailing her, and grabs my bicep to pull me into her car. She jogs around to the drivers seat and, glaring at me to make me do up my seatbelt, tears out of the lot.

"The useless idiots saw nothing," she bites out finally. She takes a sharp turn, and then another, and another, and we are at the Berry house. She steps out of the car and slams the door before opening mine and, when I'm out, slams mine as well.

I feel like I'm sleepwalking and I trudge up to Rachel's room and, grabbing her pillow, curl myself around it in the smallest space I can find so that my senses are all her – the smell of her conditioner I strangle out of the pillow, a semblance of her hug in the way that I clutch the pillow to my chest, an imagined warmth left behind. I push myself harder against the wall of what I recognise as the bathroom, the space between the toilet and the sink, hoping that I will sink into the wall and all of these worries will miraculously disappear. They don't and I don't.

I do, however, hear a heavy pounding on the bathroom door (which I locked, I faintly remember) after a while and a concerned voice.

"Quinn? Quinn, can you let me in?" I sit for a while longer and Jo repeats herself until I hear her voice going hoarse. Then I stand on now wobbly legs and flick the latch to open. I start to retreat to my little space but Jo grabs me and, eyes wild, looks over me. "Are you okay?"

I nod. "Then why for fucks sake did you lock yourself in the bathroom for an hour?" She sounds angry but her eyes are slowly becoming less desperately terrified. "Jesus, Quinn. I thought you'd done something," she pauses, "stupid."

"You mean you thought I'd hurt myself."

"Well yeah!" She lets me go and I hug the pillow while she leans against the sink counter and lets out a long sigh. "Santana mentioned you were fucked up when, you know, when you had the bastards gang up on me and then doused me in an iced beverage. I guess, I don't know, I thought you might do something."

"Because Rachel's gone." Oh. My voice sounds strange. Flat. Jo's eyes lock onto me and she nods.

"Right. But we are going to find her, Quinn." I nod.

"Sure."

"We are. And I need you to snap out of this because I need _you_ to help me find her." I let my eyes trail up to hers and, to my disgust, I whimper.

"I'm scared."

"Why?" She asks. Gently. Jo is gentle. With me. Maybe this is why Rachel is so certain that she is the best sister in the world. She certainly beats Frannie.

"I, she," Jo folds her hand around my wrist and it's warm and I focus on the warmth as an anchor, staring at it. "She can't leave. I haven't told her."

"Told her what?" My mouth remains stubbornly closed and she grins. "I can guess, Quinn. Go on. Why else are you scared?"

"I keep seeing her face. Scared. Hurt." I pause. "Dead," I whisper. Jo's face contorts and she pulls herself up until her face is right in front of mine.

"_No_," she spits. "Rachel isn't hurt. She isn't _dead_. She is fine. I know it. Can't you feel it, Quinn? Don't you think you'd be able to feel it if Rachel was hurt?" I nod slowly, hesitantly, and Jo nods as well. "Anything else you need to say, Quinn, or can we get on with the search?"

"I need her." The old, familiar panicky feeling rises from my stomach and I can feel my throat closing. I can't breathe. I need to breathe but I can't. I claw at Jo's shirt, the collar of her jacket, and force my eyes wide. She helps lower me to the ground and then, infinitely slowly and carefully, places a hand over my sternum and tightens her grip on my wrist.

"Quinn, I need you to listen to me." She leans in so that she is speaking right into my ear and then leans back slightly. I lock eyes with her.

"I can't breathe, Jo. I need Rachel, I need her here. Oh god, she's going to be hurt. Shelby is going to hurt her. Oh god, oh god, I can't breathe."

Jo clicks her fingers a few times in front of my face. "Quinn, listen to me. You are talking to me, which means that you are breathing. Okay?" I close my eyes and she puts her hand on my cheek. "For fucks sake, Fabray. Toughen up." I guess she's done with being gentle. "There's no way you can help Rachel if you're crying in her bathroom. Now breathe, dammit, and listen to me." I force a deep breath into my lungs and her thumb brushes against my wrist.

"Good girl. That's it, keep breathing. You're okay. Rachel is going to be just fine because we are going to find her, right?" I nod. "Good. Keep breathing." I can feel my breaths becoming deeper and easier and open my eyes again. Jo is pale and her jaw is clenched tight and she just keeps telling me to breathe. When she sees that the panic is receding – I don't know how she sees it but she reacts exactly in time with the fading fear – she peels her hand off my cheek and rocks back, falling into a cross-legged position. I copy her and then lean heavily back onto the shower wall.

"Thank you," I say after a minute. Jo nods.

"Fuck, Fabray. Who would have thought you were prone to panic attacks?" I look out into Rachel's room and Jo snorts. "Of course Rachel did. Christ. That was scary." She raises a shaking hand and runs it through her hair and I feel bad that I put her through that. "Chill, Fabray. If I didn't want to do it, I would have let you panic yourself to unconsciousness, okay?" I nod. "Good."

We sit quietly for another few minutes and then she starts speaking. "I've overlooked you, Quinn. I mean, sure Santana needed my company because she's a bitch and I love her to bits, but you needed someone too. Still, better late than never, right?"

I frown at her. "What exactly are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I've purged all my shit. You guys know, Rachel knows, Leroy and Hiram know, and I feel a hell of a lot better. I've faced my demons and all that shit. Most of them," she tacks on in a whisper that I'm probably not supposed to hear. "But you haven't done any of that."

"I've spoken to Leroy and Hiram about it. And about some of it to Rachel. It's just," I shrug. "Some people heal faster."

Jo shrugs as well. "That's true. And Christ knows I've had plenty of time to recover. You only left your shit behind, what, a few months ago?" I nod. "Yeah, well, I've had years. No worries, you'll be as good as me in a couple of years time."

I groan. "But you are so messed up!"

"Shut up. You've hurt my feelings." She pouts and I roll my eyes. "It's true! I pretend to be badass and awesome but underneath all this hotness, I'm really just a marshmallow.

"_God_, you are so like Santana."

Jo beams. "I _know_, right? Point is, I've got your back now."

"And all we needed was a little panic attack to smooth the way."

"Yeah." Jo nods. "That and the fact that you are so enamoured by my little sister." I pale. "Chill, Fabray. It's cool. You're pretty alright."

"Wow, Jo. You said something nice to me." She grunts.

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it." I make a cross over my heart and smile at her. She gets to her feet with a groan and then offers a hand to me, which I take, and hauls me up. "Right. Let's go and find us a Rachel."

**I hope you liked the chapter. It's all coming together slowly and I think it'll be finished before I get to Chapter 50. Maybe not but that's what I'm anticipating. Review please – tell me what you liked, didn't like, what you want to see/see more of, who you want killed, who you want to appear like a wizard that has apparated into your computer (sorry, I'm tired). Happy reading, readers :)**


	42. Chapter 42

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Forty-Two**

**Glee isn't mine.**

**Please enjoy.**

JO POV

"Aright, what do we do first?" I don't look at Quinn when she questions me. And it's not because I know that she doesn't want me to look at her because she's embarrassed about her little/really big panic attack– why would that matter? Instead, I focus on the road so in my anxiety I don't make us crash.

"We're going to my place. I need to talk to Dave." In my peripherals, I see Quinn's face tighten.

"Dave," she says. "Wait - wasn't he supposed to be looking after Rachel this afternoon?" I nod. "Then why were Mike and Tina with her?" She looks down at her lap and I recognise her guilt.

"Feeling bad that you bitched out on them?"

"Oh please, like you didn't. You threw yourself at them like you wanted to kill them."

"Well, they lost my sister. What's your excuse?" She remains stubbornly silent and I smirk. _Me: one; Fabgay: zero. Hell yeah._ "So," I say after an awkward silence. "We're going to talk to Dave because I need to know why he wasn't with her before I kill him. Questions first; killing second. Got it?" Quinn nods reluctantly and I pat her knee soothingly.

"Dave?" I call out when we get to my apartment. He looks away from the television and smiles but I can see that he's been crying, at least a little. "We need to talk."

He chuckles – then he stops chuckling when he sees me, fuming, and Quinn, "are you for real breaking up with me? Because you look really angry." I bit my tongue harshly for a full minute, counting slowly to sixty, and keep a strong grip on Quinn so that she won't beat my best gay.

"Dave. Where were you this afternoon?" He frowns and shuffles farther back into the couch.

"I was here."

"Why-" I shake my head and bite my tongue again, sucking in a deep, cleansing breath. Calming. I am _not_ about to yell at my friend until I know for certain that he's an idiot. "Why weren't you with Rachel?"

"Oh." He looks a little ashamed and shrugs. "I quit football yesterday and this afternoon some guys were giving me shit about it so I went to talk to Coach Beiste. I made sure that Rach was with Mike and Tina though." He frowns and sit straight. "She's okay though, right?"

Quinn relaxes and we look at each other. He _was_ supposed to be with Rachel but…he didn't do anything wrong. I guess we just have to wait until we find Shelby to unleash our wrath.

"No, Dave. She's not okay. She's gone." I flop onto the couch next to him and curl into his side. "She's gone and I'm freaking out." Dave wraps one of his colossal arms around my shoulders and pulls me onto his lap, hugging me tightly.

"Hey, it's okay. We'll find her and she'll give us a lecture about how she is old enough to look after herself." He stands and, with one hand on his hip, pretends to scold us before flipping his hair. Quinn laughs, admittedly a wet, teary laugh, and I snort.

"What do we do? Santana and Britt are looking everywhere – what do we do?" I roll my shoulders back until they click with the release of tension and sigh.

"Easy, Fabray. We go to the police."

"The _police_? Do we really need to do that?"

I glare at her and she flinches. "Are you serious, Fabray? My baby sister, your girlfriend, has been kidnapped and you think we're not going to the police? It's been two hours. We haven't found her and she hasn't contacted us. With Shelby's threat, I think it's absolutely appropriate for us to go to the police."

"But we can handle it by ourselves, can't we?"

"No. We can't." I storm out of the front door and down to the car, hearing Quinn and Dave scampering after me.

"Why can't we do it ourselves?" Dave asks and I feel the mother of all headaches explode in my temples. I snap.

"We can't do it, okay? This isn't a fucking story. It's not fanfiction where some shitty character gets stolen and then turns up fine and everyone throws a party and the two main 'shipping' shits make out for an hour. _Characters_ might not go to the police but almost everyone that is looking for Rachel is a minor. Leroy, Hiram, and I – we are the only adults and we make the decisions. And I _decide_ that we go to the police because you might think that Shelby is a raving lunatic but I _know_ that she is a raving lunatic and I am not letting her hurt my baby sister so we are going. Now, get your arse in the fucking car or I will not be responsible for what I am planning to do!"

Of course, just because I act and talk tough doesn't mean that I _am_ tough. (Pretty sure you already knew that but hey, whatever. Sometime reassurance is nice.) And it also doesn't mean that I don't have flashbacks to when I first went to the police.

"_Oh my god." Angelica had leapt up from her desk when the receptionist shrieked. Totally not my fault, by the way. It isn't my fault that the lady doesn't have spine enough to deal with a polite, somewhat bloodied fourteen year old. I had crossed my arms and glared at the woman, which was why she was shrieking and babbling about the devil. I took mild offense. _

"_Anita, sit down. Anita!" Angelica had thoroughly scolded the woman before looking over at me. She moved closer and I took an equal number of stepped back. Apparently recognising – how _clever_ – that trying to approach me would work, she rocked back on her heels and stuck her thumbs through her belt loops. Then she stared at me, thinking, lips slightly pursed. She didn't extend a hand for me to shake. _Rude,_ I thought, just to be contrary. _

Let's get one thing straight because at this moment you might just think that I'm a somewhat bitchy young woman because of the horrid way I've been treated. You'd be right. At _that_ point in my life, however, I liked to throw people off their game. More than that, I was a diabolical, sadistic and masochistic little shit.

_I held out a hand for her to shake, which she did. Slowly. Can't blame her. I actually wanted to thank her—I had a slight suspicion that two or three of those fingers were broken. _

"_I'm Angelica Thompson," she said. _

"_Jo. Pleasure to make your acquaintance." _

I used the same tone of voice I used for everyone those days. Cautiously polite. I wished so badly that I could have scowled and growled and terrified to my heart's content – something that I have well made up for in my later freedom – but, alas, my brain was in charge and it told me to stop being an idiot and to not aggravate the adults. Particularly adults like Angelica, who had easy access to tasers and guns and the like.

"_Jo. Is that short for something?" She settled against a desk, probably hers, and laid her empty hands, unclenched, lightly on the table on either side of her. She was doing it to show she wasn't a danger to me, that she wasn't going to hurt me, and damn if it wasn't working. _

"_It sure isn't short for Joseph," I stated and she laughed. I successfully hid the flinch I'd had after my little snark attack – _no one likes a smart aleck, _he said before repeating the lesson with his fists – and stared at her. She'd laughed. At me. No, at my joke. I frowned. _

"_You thought…" I frowned harder, ignoring the twinge of the cut on my forehead. "That was funny?" I asked. _

_Angelica nodded, shrugged. "Not in a 'that's a funny joke' sort of way though. It's more," she hesitated, searching for the word. "Do you know the phrase 'dry humour'?" I shook my head no. "Well, look it up sometimes. I think you probably have it in buckets." She looked me up and down and her smiled turned sad. "And sarcasm. And a bit of black humour too, probably." I nodded thoughtfully. I would look those terms up at my earliest convenience. "So, what's your full name then, not Joseph?"_

_I allowed my lips to twitch. This Angelica lady wasn't all bad. "Josephine. But I prefer Jo," I quietly remarked. _

"_Awesome. Some people call me Angel but I don't like it. Reminds me too much of that goody-two-shoes vampire." She shuddered. "Angelica is fine, if you want to call me something." I nodded and tried not to show the shock I was feeling that she really was talking to me as if I were an equal. "Say, Jo, do you want to come with me and get a drink? Water or milk or something?"_

_She gestured towards a door on the side of the office, which I could clearly see was an interrogation room. Still, seeing as I had come to be interrogated and, hopefully, be helped, an interrogation room might be of assistance. I narrowed my eyes at her briefly, just to let her know that I was playing her game but I _did_ know that the game was afoot, and marched into the room. _

"_Do you want to sit down?" I spared a brief look for the chair. Hard. Wooden. _

"_No." She nodded and sat down herself, handing me a bottle of water. I turned it over and over in my hands, trailing my fingers over the cool plastic, but I didn't open it. _

"_So." She let her eyes linger on the cut on my forehead, my bruised and bloodied hands, the long scratches on my arms and the rips and tears in my clothes but she didn't speak. _

"_You can ask," I offered. "You are a police officer, aren't you?" She nodded._

"_I'm a detective."_

"_Then questioning is something you should be quite proficient at, yes?" She nodded again. "You may be worried as I am relatively young but I won't be frightened."_

"_No. I guess you won't be." She dug a notebook from her pocket and balanced it on her knee. "You ready, kiddo?" I nodded. "How old are you?"_

"_Fourteen years, seven months, and eighteen days." She looked up at me curiously. _

"_That was quick. Do you keep count in your head?" I shook my head. _

"_I just worked it out."_

"_You like maths? Come work for our accounting team – they _suck_." My lips twitched again and I shrugged. _

"_I am excellent at mathematics. However, I do not wish to have a career in it. I simply appreciate that once it is understood, the formulae can be applied to problems and they are solved. That doesn't happen in real life," I tell her. I was sure she already knew but there was no harm in being told something twice. _

"_No. It doesn't." She looks sad and clears her throat, presumably of tears. "Do you want to tell me what happened to you?" She gestured with the end of her pencil towards my face and I place my water bottle on the table, and reach up to lightly brush my fingers over the blood caked on my forehead. I knew that there was a shallow laceration just below my hairline. Facial wounds always bled heavily but these often healed quite quickly and without a scar. _

"_I was…" my throat closes stubbornly and I pause. I'd never said it out aloud because he had told me that all little girls and boys were punished. That this wasn't something that was spoken about: who wanted their shame broadcasted to strangers? "Angelica?" I asked instead and she smiled, listening. "It isn't normal for children to be beaten, is it?" I questioned gravely. _

_Her face closed over. "No. No it isn't."_

"_Not all children are punished like that, are they?"_

"_I would hope that it happens to a very, very few children. Jo," she leant forward slightly, "are you aware that it is wrong for someone to hit another person?" I nod. "If it is wrong, do you think that parents should do that to their children?" I shake my head. _

"_That…would be illogical."_

"_Yes. It would. Jo," she said softly, "It is also very, very illegal." I felt angry. Angry that he had tricked me this whole time – though, admittedly, I had begun to suspect that all was not well when he had broken my arm a few years ago – and I felt, to my ultimate horror, tears well up. Not many. Just a few. Just a few furious tears. _

_Angelica offered me a handkerchief but I waved it away with a small 'no thank you'. She tucked it back into her pocket and waited until I looked back up at her. _

"_What is the word for someone who hurts their child physically?"_

"_Commonly? A child abuser." I like that she says it. I have the feeling that not many would be as open and direct as Angelica. _

"_I see. In that case, I am most certain that my father is a… child abuser." Angelica nods and writes it down in her notebook. The words sit between us – I want to say more, Angelica wants to ask more about it. They are malicious and dangerous and _heavenly_. Finally, I've said it. I laugh suddenly in the quiet and the tension in my muscles fades somewhat. "He's a child abuser."_

_Oh. There it is. The anger. I see, but don't feel, my fingers closing over the water bottle and I turn sharply to fling it against the wall. It leaves a small dent in the plaster board but instead of bursting – which I knew it wouldn't but had hoped it would anyway to fulfil a certain destructive desire – it just fell to the floor and rolled around a little. Still, throwing it had felt good. _

"_What did he do, Jo?"_

"Turn here, Jo. The police station is, like, five minutes away." I nodded to Quinn and turned obediently.

_I drew upon my extensive vocabulary, searching for the right words. I had one chance, I thought. One chance, to hopefully convince her of what _he_ had always assured me no one would believe. _

Now, of course, I knew that she had been convinced since the very millisecond she saw me. A combination, no doubt, of blood and torn garments and my behavioural quirks that pointed towards abuse of some kind.

_He hit me. No. Not strong enough. He beat me – closer but…he'd done more than that. I opened my mind back and swam through the adjectives, verbs that swarmed in descriptive clusters. I snatched one word out of the huddle and peered up at the detective. _

"_He tortured me."_

"_Tell me," she forced out of a convulsively swallowing throat. Tears again, I guessed. _

"_I was lectured about bad behaviour – that was always my fault. Children are lectured, are they not?" She nodded slowly. "But what," I pressed my lips together. "What is considered bad behaviour?"_

"_Bad behaviour?" She raised her eyebrows. "I don't know. I don't have children but when I was younger…" she didn't shrug but I could see she wanted to. I was glad. This was not a conversation to be taken lightly. Bad behaviour and the corresponding punishment were the bread and butter of my day – I had to know if they were real. "Hitting other children was bad. Staying out after curfew without telling my parents, that was bad. My mother would be so worried and she would lecture me for hours – way longer than I'd even stayed out. Um, fighting with my brothers was bad. Breaking things that I wasn't supposed to touch, swearing." She tilted her head slightly and I could feel her examining me. "What was your bad behaviour?"_

_Angry, again. I was glad because anger was better than heartbreak but that was close behind. "I'm not the person I was supposed to be." She frowned. I flinched. "I was always too loud. My grades weren't the best."_

"_You seem pretty smart to me." I appreciate the attempt to bolster my self esteem. "Did you fail?"_

_I gape at her. "Fail? _No!_ Never."_

"_Oh, well, what's the worst grade you got?"_

"_I got," I avoid eye contact. "An A minus." There are a few moments of silence and then she nods. _

"_An A minus. If I consistently had A minus' I would have been ecstatic." Ecstatic? "My parents would have been as well. Anything else you did that was _bad_?" I could hear derision in her voice but I didn't really understand where it could have been directed. That's a lie – I did know. Logically, I knew that it was directed at my father. Illogically, fearfully, I thought it was directed at me. That she thought I was a bad child. _

"_I'm sorry," I murmured._

"Pull in here." Quinn has already leapt out of the car by the time I'm actually at a full stop and I refrain from scolding her – she was nervous, worried, excited, terrified. _Next time_, I promised myself, _she does something dangerous or stupid, you can scold her_.

"Excuse me?" I'm striding into the station and she is already talking to someone. "We need some help?"

"If your car has blown," the receptionist huffs, "then go to Burt's. We are a police station, not a civil tow service. Got it?"

I smile my widest, brightest smile and lean in close to her. "Actually," I murmur, "we are here to report a kidnapping and we would very much like some assistance in the form of some nice police officers."

"Or not so nice," Dave added. I nodded, completely agreeing. They don't have to be nice. In fact…I nod again. Preferably not nice. He was completely right. I smile at him and he smiles back. I knew he was my best friend for a reason.

Less than five minutes later we are in an interrogation room. The door is open, though, so I don't feel like a criminal. Plus, criminals aren't allowed a couple of friends in the room with them, I don't think.

"So, you say that your sister has been kidnapped by your mother?" The police officer, Ben Thompson (what a coincidence! Two Thompson's to help me in my time of need), and his partner, Juliet Mills, frown at us disbelievingly. "Are you sure she didn't just take her out for a shop or something?"

Quinn glares at him with the full force of her Head Bitch glare. He flinches. "Look, Officer Thompson. You know of the Berry family, don't you?" He nods.

"Sure. The gay couple." He shrugs.

"Right. The girl that has been taken, as we said, is _Rachel_ Berry. The daughter of two gay men." She waits for him to make the connection himself. He doesn't. "She has no mother, Officer. Her mother is estranged from her."

"She's my mother, really," I butt in. The officers frown again – now confused. "I'm Jo Cor- sorry. Josephine Berry, Rachel's half sister and now adopted full sister." They nod slowly. "Shelby, the woman who has taken Rachel, is my mother and Rachel's mother."

"But Hiram and Leroy aren't your dads. Got it." I nod to Officer Mills. She seems to be smart enough, I suppose. "So why do you think she has kidnapped your sister? Like my partner said, in his typical sexist manner," she grins, "couldn't they have gone shopping or out to talk at dinner or something?"

"Rachel's phone is off – she never turns it off." Dave makes his first contribution. Thompson eyes him warily, presumably because Dave is considerably larger than he is. Dave just smiles. "She _always_ has her phone on."

"Maybe it ran out of battery?"

I shake my head. "She is also somewhat anal retentive. She has her phone in its charger on her desk at precisely ten minutes past nine every night so that it is charged the next morning."

"Really? At exactly ten past?" I don't appreciate Mills's joking tone but I answer it seriously. I have to. We _have_ to find Rachel.

"She sets an alarm. Look, officers, I get that you don't believe us but we need to find Rachel and Shelby could seriously harm her in the time between the point when you get your act together and the point when we find my sister."

Oh. Oh no. They don't appreciate that. Thank god – and you will _never_ hear me admit this again – for Quinn Fabray. She smooths things over admirably.

"I apologise on her behalf. She's just very worried about Rach, we all are."

"All three of you?" Thompson snorts. "That must be really worried."

"Oh no sir. Mike and Tina are worried because they are the ones that lost her. Santana and Brittany are driving around Lima looking for her, just in case she has been lost or took a detour. Kurt, Mercedes, Blaine and a number of other friends of ours are searching the other places she hangs out. Leroy and Hiram, her dads, are frantic and have, well," Quinn and I share a look, "They've probably fainted." The officers look a little more impressed at that.

"So. You kids are very serious about this."

"More than you could possibly understand," I murmur. Quinn's face brightens with a glow that I don't like. I _really_ don't like it.

"What if we could prove that Shelby has been abusive or at least neglectful? Would you help us then?"

"Kid, we looked her up. She doesn't have a record other than a few speeding tickets." I don't say anything because I'm too busy glaring at Quinn. I know where this is going.

"What if someone hadn't reported her?"

"No."

"Jo,"

"No. I'm serious, Quinn."

"Serious about abandoning your sister to Shelby? Are you seriously so self obsessed that you won't help her?" I clench my eyes tight. "Jo," she starts again and I raise a hand.

"I'll do it. But you owe me."

"No I don't!" she argues. "We both want Rachel back."

"But you have _no_ right to give other people information about me. You have no right to put me in a situation where I don't feel safe." She drops her eyes away from mine and I sigh. "Dave, can you leave for a minute please?"

"Nope." I glare at him. "Chill, Berry. If this is about the scarring, I already know." My glare deepens but he doesn't appear to be affected. This is what happens when you become friends with people, apparently. "I accidently saw you getting changed when your door was out of order."

"If you kids are done talking between yourselves?" I turn to Officer Thompson and nod firmly. Down to business we go.

"Officer Thompson. If I could prove that my mother had been at least neglectful, and at most abusive, would you help us?" He nodded sharply. That's one thing I liked about police officers – they hated that word. Abuse. Abusive. It set them on edge. At his nod, I turned around immediately and, unzipping my jacket (which happened to be my favourite) and giving it to Dave, I pulled my shirt up and over my head before the officers could protest at the indecency of my actions.

"Holy shit," Mills whispered. Dave and Quinn averted their eyes, which I appreciated. "She did this?"

I shook my head. "No. My father did. But she was aware of it happening."

"Why the hell wasn't she brought in and questioned? Was she charged for neglect?" Thompson's voice was raised just enough to make me uncomfortable.

"No."

There is silence while I shrug my shirt back on and, now exceedingly uncomfortable, grab my jacket back from Dave. "Right. So, Jo, was it?" I nod. "You are most familiar with your mother. What do you think her plan would be?"

"Well, I think that she would take Rachel to New York." Quinn's eyes widen but Dave just nods. Strategy – he gets it. Home ground advantage. Officer Thompson stands, ready to call the airports, but I shake my head. "No. She wouldn't go to the airports. Are you kidding me? There's no way that she would get Rachel onto a plane. She'd have to be either unconscious," I flinch minutely at that, "or bound and gagged and that might raise a few eyebrows." I frown.

"She would drive, then." Mills brushes her index finger over her temple slowly and focuses on me. "Is she an impatient woman? Do you think she would risk a speeding ticket on Route 62 to get to New York faster?"

I shrug. "There's a possibility." She nods.

"Better than nothing. I'm on it." And with that, she strides out of the room.

"Alright, while Mills is talking to the traffic division, I'm going to have to ask a few more questions."

The rest of the afternoon – an hour or so spent answering Thompsons questions – feels like a waste of time. I feel like I should be out there, following them. I feel like I should be doing something.

Mills returns with confirmation that a car rented out to one Shelby Corcoran was snapped speeding on the highway and I nod. We've got her. She's going to New York.

Suddenly, Quinn's phone rings, vibrating madly on the table top and she lunges for it. "San?" I hear yelling. A lot of yelling. Quinn snarls down the line after a minute. "I cannot understand you when you rant in Spanish, bitch, so tell me in English." Clearly, there is more Spanish ranting because Quinn's face flushes angrily.

"Give it. I understand Spanish." I snatch the phone from her and press it to my ear.

"_That good for nothing son of a bitch. I will kill him. I will slit his throat and enjoy it. I will make him burn in hell for this._" I raise my brows. Sounds like she really planned this out.

"_What is it, Santana?_" I ask her in her native language. I'm not sure if she'll listen to English right now or even acknowledge it – she didn't listen to Quinn, clearly.

"_That arsehole Finn Hudson has Rachel's car. He gave her to Shelby. She _has_ her."_ And suddenly, though I still hear ranting and raving in wonderfully terrifying Spanish, my vision goes white and Dave is suddenly next to me.

"Jo? You aren't breathing."

"I'm not?" I whisper.

"No. I just thought you'd want to know." I grin dazedly at him and suck in a deep breath. "What was that about?"

"_Finn Hudson_," I growl. "He has Rachel's car."

"But that means…" Dave trails off as the tips of his ears redden with fury. I nod.

"That bastard," Quinn breathes. "I will kill him."

"Get in line," I say with a smile. Only with a smile because we are currently in a police station. Then I would say it quite seriously. Deadly seriously. "Or, you know, you me and Santana could make a day of it."

"Sounds like a plan."

I clap my hands once. "Great! It's a date." I grin at Thompson, who is watching us like we are a special brand of deranged, and ignore Quinn's blush. Well, a little. Oh forget it, I can't help but rub it in her face one last time. "Or would you prefer the date to be with Rachel?"

She blushes a deep red now and I laugh.

"Rachel is your girlfriend, Quinn?" Thompson asks. Quinn nods hesitantly, Dave and I more surely, and the man frowns. "Well then." Quinn looks a little scared at the thought that he might be homophobic like a lot of the clowns in this town but I'm not worried. I saw a picture of his boyfriend/partner on his desk. "Then let's get to work. What is this about Mr Hudson?"

We tell him what we know and he nods. "New York is out of my jurisdiction, kids. I can't do anything there but we _are_ alerting the authorities and I assure you that your sister will be recovered and you'll be reunited." He grins at Quinn. I like this guy. (Quinn blushes again, poor thing. She'd just recovered from my teasing as well.) "Finn _Hudson_," he growls, "I can deal with."

He and Mills take their cruiser to the Hudson home, with Quinn, Dave and me following in my car. They are busily discussing what they are going to do to Finn when they see him – my personal favourite being a rather vivid description of the use of multiple power tools – while I, silently, plan my own mission.

Hudson is packed into the backseat of the police cruiser when we arrive. Dave happily restrains Quinn for me, when I nod towards her, and she equally happily attempts to tear out of his hold and screams at Finn the whole while. The arseholes face is white as a sheet and he looks like he's trembling. I hope he pisses his pants. His eyes move from Santana to Quinn and back to Santana. Then I step forward and his eyes widen and he blanches even further. I watch as he is driven away, my gaze narrowing. I hate that motherfucker.

"Jo?" Brittany calls to me. I turn away from Finn and towards my friends – Rachel's friends. In my mind, I'm compiling a list. _Dave has to come. That isn't an option. Quinn as well, if only because she'll make Rachel feel safe. Santana and Britt, I need them. Kurt? No. He's a danger to himself and others. Mercedes? Maybe, she's fierce, but she isn't a firm supporter of Rachel and I don't want to ride in a car with her for eight hours. Oh god, do I have enough seats? Puck as well. One can never have enough manly muscle for this kind of thing._

"Jo?" Brittany calls again. I meet her eyes this time and she frowns. "Do you need help thinking? I always think better when I have a back board."

_Back board_? I picture it in my mind, throwing a basketball at the back board and smile. Oh, of course. A sounding board.

"Sounding board, Britt?" Santana has come to the same conclusion and Britt and I nod at her.

"You're right, of course, Britt." She beams, skipping over to slip her arm into the crook of my elbow. I tug her close and take a deep breath. "Say, Santana?" My friend raises her brows and I can hear her, in my mind (not literally, of course, but my imagination supplies it), saying 'what you want, bitch?' "Your father," she scowls and I hurriedly continue. "He has an SUV, yes?" She nods. "I don't suppose we could…acquisition it, could we?"

Her eyes brighten to the point of horror. Horror, that she could find so much glee in taking something of her fathers. _Arsehole_. "I can do that," she says flippantly.

"Wonderful," I purr. She takes a step back. "Dave?" He comes to stand at my shoulder. "I need you to get some things from the store." I pull a slip of paper from my pocket and a pen from another pocket (one should never be without) and scribble the items down quickly. He takes it, looks it over, and smiles.

"Should I pack a bag?" I pause and then nod. "Got it. Back here in twenty?"

"Please." He nods and I grab him quickly in a brief but strong hug. I stand on my tiptoes and, though I'm embarrassed, I whisper a quick "love you" in his ear and he hugs me to his chest quickly. He turns away so I can't really see but I'm fairly sure that he's crying. God love that boy.

"Can I help him, Jo-Jo?" Britt moves as if to dance after Dave but I shake my head.

"Oh no, Britt. We're going to be having some fun." Britt's eyes widen.

"You want to join me and Sanny in our sweet lady kisses?" I blink. Santana very casually lifts her hand and covers Brittany's mouth, smiling sweetly and innocently at me. I run a hand through my hair and peer at the pair curiously. Curious…

"Um, no…but thank you?" Britt nods and I turn my attention back to the present. "The fun _we_ are going to have is stealing, um, I mean, _borrowing_ Mr Lopez's car." Santana cracks the knuckles in her fingers one by one, grinning maliciously and she looks so ecstatically gleeful that I can't help but grin back, heart skipping a beat – from _excitement_, stealing a car, I tell myself and I believe it.

"Quinn, we are going to drop you off home, er, the Berry household." Quinn nods.

"Right, home." Her lips twitch in a tiny smile. I nod. Cute.

"I need you to pack a bag with a few things. One, Rachel's most comfortable things."

"Clothes wise or objects?" Good. This girl is smart. (I can't help but evaluate her as we interact, making sure that she is good enough for Rachel. I mean, I know that Rachel loves her and that she is happy with her but people have been happy with child abusers and with criminals and with stupid, unambitious people –cough cough Finn cough – so I need to make sure.)

"Both." Quinn nods. "Also, as much first aid stuff as you can find." Fear flashes over her face and I hesitantly pat her on the shoulder. "She will _not_ be hurt, Quinn. I promise you I will do my utmost to make sure that Shelby doesn't lay a finger on Rach. These are just in case we get a booboo kicking down the door or something, okay?" Quinn barks a laugh at that and nods. "Good. And three, pack some non-perishable vegan foods so we can feed the girl when we get our hands on her."

"Jo!" Santana barks. "Can we get this show on the road?" I see that she is already at her car so Fabray and I hurry to Santana's car and hop in the back, seeing as Dave acquisitioned my vehicle.

Quinn leaps out at her stop and I shout after her, "leave a note for Dad and Daddy Berry!" Quinn nods and gives me a thumbs up. When she disappears into the house, I roll my eyes at my forgetfulness and send her a text.

**To Quinn Fabray: We'll be back in ten minutes. See you then.**

My phone buzzes seconds later and I grin.

**From Quinn Fabray: Stop worrying, Jo. P.S. Leroy and Hiram are here and questioning. I hate you.**

That _was_ a bit mean of me, abandoning the girl to the firing squad aka. Dad and Daddy Berry.

"It's so cute that you are calling them Dad and Daddy like Rachie does, Jo-Jo," Britt remarks from the front seat. I frown. I didn't call them that. Did I? I shrug the thought away and we remain in an agreeable silence until we get to Santana's house. Mr Lopez is home.

Santana is tense in the front seat and I frown. I can't make her do this. That being said, we need the keys and the car. Brittany strokes long fingers gently across Santana's knee. I reach out and brush my own hand over my friends shoulder.

"San?" She jerks her head back and meets my eyes. "I'll be back in a few." Without waiting for her undeniable squawk of protest, I slide out of the car and jog up to the front door, letting myself in. Mr Lopez looks up from the dining room table and his face goes near apoplectic with rage.

"_You_," he hisses.

"Me," I nod, not bothering to hide my grin. My my, what a scary man he is. I roll my eyes. "I need the keys to your SUV."

He glares at me. "You can't have them."

"No?" I ask. He stumbles over his second and more furious no when I step closer. Since I'm taller than he is, just slightly, he has to look up at me and he doesn't like it. His face darkens. "Mr Lopez, do you know how badly your reputation can be affected by a charge of child abuse?" I ask silkily, tapping into my inner Severus Snape. (Told you. I'm a nerd.) It's almost comical how fast his face drains of colour. "Ah. You do know. Excellent." I don't raise my voice at all. In fact, I take a perverse pleasure in lowering my voice and watching him quiver in fear.

"What do you want?"

"I want your keys. Now. You'll get them back in a few days, along with your car. Also, any speeding fines will be paid by you. Understood?" He nods shakily and I smile thinly, showing just a smidgeon of white teeth. Including my canines. "Wonderful."

He scrambles in his pockets for the keys and throws them at me. I think about leaving it at that but, well, I hate this guy. "We also need some money." I try to feel bad at the speed with which he pulls out his wallet and at the shaking in his hand when he hands me the small wad of mismatched notes. I can't though. Hate, remember?

"Thanks!" I say cheerfully. And I leave.

I tap on the window where San is sitting, staring straight ahead, and motion for her to lower the window.

"You're a bitch," she says. I nod easily.

"Yeah. Here are the keys." I dangle them in front of her. "Are you driving or do you want me to?" She frowns.

"You drive the SUV." I shrug.

"Cool. Can you pick Quinn up? I'm grabbing Puckerman from his house and I'll meet you at Hudson's." I see her shudder and her upper lip pull up in a snarl. I stroke her face quickly, removing her snarl, and snatch my hand back. My expression says nothing and she says nothing but her eyes are wondering. Of course they are – what the fuck did I do that for? Still, I smile. "We're only going to Hudson's because I told Dave we would meet there. Trust me. And don't forget Quinn!" I say as she raises the window.

She nods and I step back, tucking the money into my pocket, so that she can pull out of the driveway. Then I hop into the SUV and start her up. She sounds like what I imagine global warming would sound like. I grin. _I'm just helping Puckerman's pool cleaning business out a little,_ I tell myself.

I stop outside his house and wave him down from his room. "Hey Puckerman." He nods but won't make eye contact. "Hey, what's up?"

"What's up?" He frowns. "What's up is that the second you get the fucking Unholy Trinity as friends you and Rach totally ditch me. _That'_s what's up." I wince. He…might have a point. "Oh, and Dave? I'm totally cool with you living with him or whatever and him being gay but I'm _not_ cool with you ditching me and living your nice happy little life with him as your best friend and not even talking to me!" I wince again. Again, he has a point. Other than tutoring him, I haven't really paid much attention.

"I'm sorry." He scowls and then, after a whole minute (I know, I counted – how long is a minute, right? So long…) of him staring at me, he relents.

"It's cool. They're hot and you're gay. And Dave got kicked out, right?" I nod. "Yeah, well…it's cool." He stuffs his hands in his pockets and shrugs. "So what's up? Want to play paintball?" His eyes brighten and I realise that he doesn't know what's going on.

"Noah, Shelby has Rachel. I thought Santana had texted you otherwise I would have." Puckerman's eyes widen and then narrow.

"Who?"

"Mike and Tina. Not their fault. Fucking Finn Hudson wanted to talk to Rach and she felt sorry for him – who the fuck knows why – so she stopped to talk to him before dance and he helped Shelby take her. Then he took her car and hid it at his place," I explain. By the time I'm finished, Puck is shaking.

"That fucker did _what?_" I nod.

"So, you in?"

"What? Are we beating him up?" Puck cracks his knuckles, eerily similar to Santana, but I shake my head.

"No. We're going after Shelby. You in? We need some muscle." I teasingly trail a finger down his bicep and he grins, flexing.

"'Course I'm in. Just let me grab some stuff." He races back into his house and I pull my phone out, hearing it ring.

"_Where the fuck are you, Jo?_" Comes Santana's sweet, sweet tone. (Sarcasm, duh.)

"Calm your tits, Lopez. Puckerman was bitching," I grin when he glares at me, already coming out of the house, "so he took some convincing."

"_What did you promise him?_"

"Nothing bad. Just a threesome with us. You in?" I grin at the static that greets me and laugh when she says nothing. God, I love teasing this girl. She's too easy – probably because she thinks I don't have a sexual bone in my body (He he, sexual boner…) because I _know_ that Rachel told Quinn who told Santana and Brittany that I'd never had a girlfriend or boyfriend. I can't blame Rachel. She's a loud-mouthed little chit and I love her despite that. I sigh. "Chill, Lopez. He's coming, free of charge. We'll be there in five." I end the call and pull him into the car, speeding off to Hudson's house where my accrued team is waiting.

I look around and then scan my mental database to make sure that I'm not missing anything or anyone. _Me, Quinn, Santana, Brittany, Dave, Puck. Clothes, non-perishable food items, water, money for fuel and a motel…_ Well, if I think of anything else, I'll just buy it later.

"Alright everyone, in the SUV." Everyone dives into the car. "Do I have to debrief anyone or does everyone know what's going on?"

"What does taking underwear off have to do with rescuing Rachie?" Britt asks from the back. Puck has a decidedly lecherous grin on his face so I reach back and smack it lightly off. He pouts.

"Nothing, Britt. Everyone all set?" I am greeted with a series of nods so I settle my hands on the steering wheel. "Alright then. Let's do this. 'Mission: Rescue Rachel' is a go!"

**Hey y'all. I don't know if you read the reviews or not but, if you do, please ignore the one from 'anonymouse'. That's just my best friend being silly and supportive. She doesn't actually think that Shelby is wonderful or her new spirit animal and she certainly doesn't want me to kill off Quinn. That being said, if you haven't read it, I suggest that you do. She's a funny one. Also, I am absolutely not opposed to reviews of that nature. In fact, if there is something silly that you want me to write – in this story or in one you want me to write especially for you – do NOT be shy. Be bold. Tell me. I love writing and I love that people have ideas that I would never consider. Also, if you just want to talk, feel free to PM me or review with a question. **

**Also, review in other ways: what did you like? What didn't you like? What would you like to see coming up? (I.e. the Faberry kiss? Who wants to help write that – send in what you want to see!) What shenanigans should they all get up to? Love you all. **

**OH! Sorry, final thing I promise. I made a twitter for my account: unicyclehippo please follow me, I will follow you back. I'd love to talk. Happy reading, readers :)**


	43. Chapter 43

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Forty-Three**

**Glee isn't mine.**

**Please enjoy.**

JO POV

**Thirty minutes into the trip:**

"I'm just saying, Jo. I think that 'Mission: Rescue Rachel' is a super boring name. Can't we call it 'Mission: Save Rachel from her Freak of a Mother and then Watch Quinn Mack on her Girl'? That's totally cooler than your lame title."

"No, Puckerman." I groan. "We are not calling it that."

"Ooh, can we call it 'Mission: Missing Miser Mitigates Morose Misanthropic Mice?" Everyone stares at Brittany. I even stare at her, using the rearview mirror as my aide.

"Why would we call it that, Britt?" Quinn asks.

Britt beams. "All of the words start with 'M' and mice are _so_ cute," she gushes. I shrug.

"I still don't care." She pouts at me until I relent. "But I agree with Britt. Her name is cute." Puck makes a whipping sound and I nudge Santana, who is sitting next to me, and she happily punches Puckerman for me. "Thanks, San." She nods, shrugging.

Puckerman leans over to Dave. "How does she even know those words?" Dave just wordlessly shrugs and points at me. I grin. Hell yeah it was me. I'm fucking amazing.

**Two hours into the trip:**

"Do you have a six?"

"Go fish."

"Fuck off, Puckerman! I _know_ you gots a six in there somewhere. Now hand it the fuck over." I flick a look into the mirror so I can make certain that they haven't woken up Quinn with their heated whispers.

"I don't have a six, Lopez," Puckerman growls. "Just because you want Britt to win for the _ninth_ time doesn't mean that I have a six." Santana glares at him until Dave sighs.

"Do you want a four?"

"Ooh! Yes please, Dave." Brittany plucks the four out of his hands and Santana searches through her girlfriend's cards and together they smack down a pair of fours.

"Hold on – that's an eight!"

"Eight is a multiple of four, dumbass. Deal with it." Puck whines and tosses his cards to the floor.

"I give up. Go fish is _not_ played this way."

**Four hours into the trip:**

All of my passengers are snoring. This so isn't fair. Then again, I can't really blame them. Quinn, San, and Britt had an intense workout with Coach Sylvester and then they had to run around town and try to find Rach. They're off the hook. Dave, I suspect, is hiding a few bruises and he's upset so I don't mind that he's asleep. Puckerman is the only one that I really want to kick awake. I don't, though, because I know that if I did he would yell and wake up everyone else. He's a dick.

I fight a yawn and tiredly pull into the petrol station. Turning the ignition off as smoothly and quietly as I possibly can, I fill the tank and then stock up on a few energy drinks. I happily use the money that Mr Dickface Lopez gave me.

Hopping back into the car, I jerk when there is a body in the passenger seat. Not, like, a dead body or anything, but a person body. Dave.

"Hey," I greet exceptionally quietly. He nods. "Did I wake you up?" He nods again and I wince. "Sorry. I tried to be quiet."

"No worries." I can tell that he's trying to talk quietly but, well, he's a big boy. A big boy with a big voice. He sees my frown and tries harder. "Sorry."

I start the car again and wait until I'm positive that none of the others have woken up before I start driving. We still have about four hours left and I want to get there before dawn. Having the element of surprise and under the cover of darkness and all that shit.

"I'm alright. It's not that bad, you know," Dave murmurs. I don't say anything. "You've been watching me like I'm going to break for days so I know that someone told you. Britt, right?" I nod. "Yeah. Thought so. You did the same thing when I came to live with you."

My face twists into a frown. "You're kidding, right? I was furious that I had to share my apartment. I sure as hell wasn't watching you like you were going to _break_; I was watching you like you were going to break _something_." He smiles. "And, just so you know, I don't mind sharing with you now," I say more quietly.

"You were totally worried about me."

"Was not."

"You so were." He shrugs. "It was Az."

"Azimio?" He winces and I scowl. "I thought I told him what happened when he messes with my people."

"You mean a kick to the goodies?" A slow smirk crosses my face.

"You _would_ think they're his goodies, wouldn't you?" It takes a second before he catches on and then he grimaces. I laugh silently, shoulders shaking a little while he shakes his head to rid himself of the image.

"Look, I'm happy you two are talking," Santana husks from the back seat, "but if you keep talking about Azimio's dick, I'm going to hurt you." Dave groans and covers his face and I cackle before nodding to Santana, who immediately closes her eyes and curls herself around her Brittany.

"Okay, if you're not interested in him, who are you interested in?" I waggle my eyebrows – which, apparently, loses effect when the intended target has to be replaced by the road I'm focusing on – and Dave shrugs.

"No one."

"So the players are punching you just because you happen to like guys." Dave shots me a sidelong look and tries to lift his own eyebrows.

"Are you really surprised at all?"

"No. Just… sad." I shift my hands on the steering wheel and hand Dave an energy drink. "Can you open this for me?"

**Four and a half hours into the drive:**

"I need to pee," is Brittany's abrupt statement.

"Me too," Puck pipes up.

"Me three," "me four," "me five-"

"Okay, yes, I get it!" I snarl. "I'm pulling over at the next station." There is a small pause in conversation and than a timid voice dares to speak.

"Can we get some lollies too?" I sigh. I hate kids.

**Five hours into the drive:**

"Are you okay, Jo?" I flinch and scowl at Quinn. "Whoa. What's with the face?"

"I'm not actually scowling at you," I tell her. "I've had a couple of energy drinks and my face seems to feel the need to use or burn off the excess energy as well. Did you know that the face uses more muscles to frown than to smile? Did you know that I could move my ears independent of one another? I didn't. Turns out that I can. Do you want to see? Are you nervous at all? I'm not because I know where she's going and it's going to be fine but you might be nervous. Are you going to kiss Rachel or are you going to be boring and tell her how you feel? Are you going to tell her? In my opinion, I think that you should because you never know when she'll go missing again but I hope she never goes missing again and if Shelby is arrested she probably won't, in which case you don't have to tell Rachel right away that you love her though it's never nice to hide something like that but you can totally do that if you want to and-"

Quinn lays her hand on my shoulder and I cut myself off, feeling it, but not looking because I really have to focus on the road and it would suck if I crashed right now and killed everyone because these are my best friends in the whole wide world and I have the feeling that crashing and having them die would be an extraordinarily traumatic experience so I should avoid that at all costs.

"I think you should cut down on the energy drinks." I nod vigorously and she points to a gas station. "Why don't you pull over here and I'll drive for a while?" I frown at my hands, which are shaking a little from excess energy, and try to focus my many, many billions of buzzing thoughts into some kind of order.

"That's probably for the best."

"Jesus, Jo. I thought you would be fine with energy drinks. I mean, you drink coffee don't you?" I frown at a laughing Santana, who tugs me into the back with her and Britt. I curl up between them, my scowl deepening.

"This isn't the same as coffee. Coffee is a wonderful and perfect beverage. Energy drinks are evil." I close my eyes tightly and lay my head on Britt's leg, taking her hand and covering my eyes with that as well. There is too much _light_ in here. So I say so. "Santana, turn out the _lights_," I moan.

"Jo, it's night time and the lights are out. Are you okay?" I groan and Santana rubs my back. I can feel the bitch laughing though as she grabs my legs and pulls them onto her lap. "Aww, it's okay. Just go to sleep. The GPS is accurate, right?"

I nod, suddenly sleepy, but manage to murmur, "wake me up in an hour or we'll get lost."

**Eight hours into the trip:**

"Yeah, well, I told you to wake me up. And what else did I say?"

"You said we'd get lost."

"And what are we?"

"…Lost." I growl at my shamefaced crew and sigh.

"It's fine. It's fine. Just stay very still and very quiet or I will probably hurt you." Immediately, hands shove at Brittany and she clambers into the passenger seat. I scowl at the traitorous group in the back who are giving me identical, innocent smiles and grin at Brittany.

"You can't be angry with me, so they made me sit here." I nod.

"I know Britt. Do you want to pick the music?" The smile she gives me almost makes the hour of the music she chooses worth it. Almost.

**Nine hours and forty-five minutes into the trip; New York City; Shelby's apartment (finally):**

It's taken us longer than necessary to get here. I glare at Santana and Quinn who, in my mind at least, are the ones to blame. I park the SUV and turn to my people, noting the presence of a rent-a-car on the street. _Shelby_.

"Alright. This is how this is going to go down. Santana, can you pick locks?"

"Pfft, duh. I was raised in Lima Heights. My hermano taught me how to pick locks when I was four." I nod. I don't really believe it but I nod regardless.

"Right. So, Santana will pick the lock. If that doesn't work, then Dave, you kick down the door. I'd much rather the lock picked because then we have the element of surprise. I know the layout of the apartment so I'll go in first. Dave, you come in next because you're enormous and that will make a nice demonstration of muscle. Puck, Santana, Brittany, and Quinn, you come in after _in that order_." I can't have Brittany come in last in case something goes wrong. If Quinn is behind her, she can defend Britt until San gets there.

They all nod – except for Santana. I think she just likes to make things difficult for me though, because she doesn't have any complaint.

"What happens when we get in there?"

"Best case scenario?" I frown and tap my chin. "Well, obviously we rescue Rachel. Also, Quinn will get to her first because there is no better opportunity to kiss the girl you like than after you rescue her from a deranged psychopath."

"Tautology," Santana taunts.

"Shut you mouth," I snarl.

"Did Sanny say a bad word, Jo-Jo?"

"No, Britt. She just called me out on the fact that when I'm worried about my sister my vocabulary takes a hit. Quelle surprise." I level one more glare at Santana before continuing to outline the plan. "I don't know where Shelby will be so everyone has to keep an eye out. She's probably in there because _that_," I point at the rental car, "is the car she hired." Quinn nods. Of course she's seen that.

"Can everyone stop telling me that I have to kiss Rach when I see her? Please?" Quinn whines. Everyone frowns at her.

"You don't want to kiss her?"

"Seriously? Do you expect us to believe that?" The hubbub continues and I laugh. Quinn huffs.

"No, of course I do. But…" she shrugs. "Maybe Rach doesn't." Silence falls and we all exchange glances. Puckerman leads the charge on this one with a loud guffaw. The rest of us follow until we are almost crying with laughter. Oh, wait. I take that back. I wipe away a little tear from my cheek. We _are_ crying with laughter. "Guys!" Quinn tries to glare but it doesn't have much affect.

I pat Quinn on the shoulder and Santana shakes her head, grinning. Britt is the one to tell Quinn though. "Quinn, Rach has been in love with you since she saw Lucy in first grade." Quinn blinks and right before my eyes she changes.

"What the fuck are we waiting for, people? Let's go and get her." I catch her by the collar of her uniform when she charges out of the car and tug her back. I ignore the way she chokes when the fabric tightens on her throat and smile sweetly, eyeing her chair, until she sits again.

"Quinn, it's great that you're so pumped," I smile super sweetly again, making her wince, "but follow the plan. Okay?" She nods somewhat sheepishly and I sigh. "Guys, I know we've been light-hearted and all up until this point but you need to know that Shelby is dangerous. _Pay attention_ to everything. I don't want to have to call your parents to tell them that some psycho put you in hospital. Okay?" They nod. "Then let's do this."

Puckerman happily obliges humming the Mission Impossible* theme song as we climb the stairs almost silently. Soon enough we are outside the apartment and I step aside to let Santana do her work.

_Click_. The sound, so necessary, so nerve-wracking, is very quiet. I almost don't believe that it's done except that Santana stands and shoots me the most self-important, most smug look I've ever seen. Ever. I roll my eyes but nudge her with my elbow and nod a thankyou.

I push the door open, wincing when it creaks, and slip in the small gap. Dave, light on his feet for someone so large, has to open the door a little further but he is barely a second behind me. I want to look to see that everyone is following my game plan but I have to trust them. I can't be distracted.

The lights are out. I pause, holding a hand behind me, fingers outstretched. Hopefully they understand my silent message – _pause_. I can't hear anything either.

Closing my eyes, I call up a floor plan of the apartment. Kitchen, bathroom, lounge room, master bedroom, second bedroom, bathroom, music room. Shelby will probably be in the master bedroom, and Rachel is likely to be in my old room. To _get_ to the second bedroom, though, we have to pass Shelby's. I heave a silent sigh – it has to be done.

Moving my feet carefully to the stronger floorboards and inching closely to the wall, I lead my friends past Shelby's bedroom. The door is closed and I don't dare open it to see if she's in there. I just hope to god that she is.

I step to the other side of the hallway and gently push on the door to my old bedroom. It creaks loudly and I wince. Whoops. I'd forgotten that I'd sprayed water vapour every morning on the hinges so they would rust and alert me to intruders – I guess Shelby hadn't fixes that…

I grin sheepishly at the five glares that are being directed at me and, biting my lip, push the door open in one swift motion, hoping that the hinges won't creak _too_ badly. Jesus loves me. (Duh, who wouldn't love this rocking bod?)

Then I do exactly what I told the others not to do. I don't pay attention to anything around me – say, for instance, the suspicious looking shadow lurking in the corner of the room – and step, unsuspecting, into the room. Dave's hulking frame stops everyone else from doing the same, thankfully.

"Fuck!" I exclaim loudly when something comes down over my shoulders. It sends me to my knees and I manage to roll away, awkwardly slamming into the wall, as it comes down again. "Fuck, Shelby!"

There's a bit of a kerfuffle in which, _finally_, at some point the lights are switched on and we all stop dead and hardly dare to breath. She hit me with like a chair leg or something. It's a sturdy piece of wood, no doubt about that my shoulders tell me, and I kick it to the side. Shelby is holding Rachel, who is blearily waking up from some kind of slumber (whether drug induced or otherwise I don't know but it makes me angry), in an improvised choker hold/hug even though she has already restrained my sister in a chair. Quinn refuses to let me step forward, wrapping her arms around me and she is straining to hold me back. I shake her off.

"Hello Shelby," I greet calmly.

"Josephine. Took you long enough." I frown.

"To do what?" Why not humour the crazy lady for a little while, at least until I'm sure Rachel is safe? Sounds like a plan to me.

"To join me. I didn't anticipate that you would bring so many friends though. Do they all know about me?"

"Do they think you're crazy?" I snort. "Yes."

"Ah, well done. That was excellent thinking, bringing them. We have to get rid of them somehow so why not here and now, right?"

Santana inches closer to me. "_What the fuck is she talking about, Jo_?" I shrug helplessly. I have a creeping feeling that Shelby is far more psychotic than I had anticipated.

"I actually wanted them to stay with me. Them being my friends and all," I say slowly. I don't dare talk louder, in case she's like a wild animal and loud noises will freak her out and cause her to either a) run or b) kill us all.

"Don't be silly, Josephine. You don't have friends. Rachel's friends must be disposed of – she will make new ones when we settle elsewhere. She's so good at making friends." Shelby strokes Rachel's face tenderly and my sister's eyes dart to me, petrified. I nod to her, hoping that I convey the right amount of 'don't worry, I'll get you out of this' to calm her down.

"Rachel, sweetie, I need you to stay still for a little while, alrighty?" She strokes Rachel's face again and my sister's eyes flick to me, questioning. I nod and Rachel smiles bravely.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Shelby asks, eyes hardening. Rachel flinches.

"Okay, Mummy," she whispers. I'm abruptly furious – what has this psycho done to freak out Rachel so much? Worse than that – what could she have done to have trained Rachel to say that already?

Shelby strokes Rachel's face again and then turns to us, smiling brightly. "Rachel's friends, up against the wall, please." She gestures to the side of the room and, obediently, my friends sidle over. I don't. "Jo, Rachel's somewhat fond of you, isn't she?" I nod. "Ah." Her face falls. "I see."

"What's wrong, Shelby?" She looks to Rachel and then back to me.

"I don't like having to hurt anyone that Rachel likes but it has to be done." She shrugs apologetically. I raise a hand.

"Sorry to be a bother," I interject. "How exactly are you planning to hurt us?" I just want to be forewarned, in case there is some way that I can save us.

"With this." Shelby then pulls out a gun. Of course she has a gun (who sells these things to people and don't they have some kind of standards? Seriously!). I take a quick look at it and, striding forward, rip it out of her hand. There are a few muted gasps behind me but I sort of knew what I was doing. I at least knew that the safety was still on.

The gun is surprisingly heavy. Shelby looks at it in my hand, much like I am doing, I suppose, and frowns. She doesn't react in any other way and I wonder exactly how far gone she is. Mentally, you know?

"Josephine, give me that." I press my lips together and narrow my eyes, mock thoughtfully. I tilt my head from side to side and hum, pretending to ponder my decision. "_Josephine_," she says sharply. "Give that to me."

I look down at it, sitting so darkly dangerous there in my hand, and smile. "Nope." Oh god, it shouldn't be as funny as it is to see her so surprised but _god_, it is. Doesn't she remember that I wouldn't let her have Rachel? Doesn't she remember that I denied her last time? I don't care. It's ending now. My thumb reaches up quite easily and flicks the safety off. The click is horrifically loud and Shelby frowns.

"What do you mean _no_, Josephine?"

A sharp, buzzing feeling starts in my chest and then spreads _everywhere_. My face breaks into a wide grin – which surprised her because I've never ever smiled in her presence – and I laugh.

"My name is Jo, Shelby. Not Josephine. Jo." I grin wider. "Say it with me now: Juh –oh. _Jo._" I nod encouragingly and Shelby glares heatedly at me.

"Josephine, don't be an idiot. Do you have any idea what is at stake here? This is your sister's wellbeing we are talking about. We have worked for years to make sure that she is safe and happy and I will not have you ruin it in the final stages of the plan. I know that you aren't Rachel but can't you at least try to _act_ like a good daughter should?"

I nod slowly. "Okay. Yeah. You're right." Shelby smiles and holds out her hand gratefully for the gun. There are a few shuffling feet behind me and I know that my friends are surprised by that statement. I hit my head lightly with my left fist and roll my eyes. "Oh, whoops, sorry. No – you're completely _wrong_."

Santana snorts at that and Shelby's eyes narrow. Whoops. Someone's getting angry.

"You are a _horrid_ daughter, Josephine. I cannot believe that you won't even-"

"I'm going to stop you right there," I say lazily. Then it's my eyes that narrow because, oh my god, I just realise: _I have the power_. _I_ have the gun. I'm in control. And now I have the opportunity to say all the things that I've wanted to say for a very, _very_ long time.

"Oh this is good. This is marvellous. This is what is going to happen. I have a gun in my hand and I do know how to shoot it so I'm going to suggest that everyone stays really calm and quiet while I tell Shelby _exactly_ what I think of her. Got it?" Shelby's eyes don't move from mine and I smile a little smile that says _I've got you now, bitch._ "This is how it is Shelby. I _hate_ you. I loathe you with every fibre of my being. You are the worst person I have ever had the misfortune to meet."

"I never hurt you, Josephine," Shelby says and, for the first time, I hold the gun up and aim it right at her unwaveringly.

"Shut up. I'm not done talking." Her mouth claps shut and I nod. "Thank you. You might never have physically hit me, Shelby, but you knew what was going on. There is no _fucking_ way that you didn't hear what happened. Hell, you probably even told him to do it sometimes." I try to ignore the flicker in her eyes that tells me, yes, she did, but it's _there_ and I'm so angry.

"That's it. I'm done with this shit. I am done with you telling me that I am an awful daughter. Sure, I wasn't the daughter that you wanted but I was a hell of a lot better than you deserved. I didn't even have a rebellious teenage year. I didn't get body piercings or tattoos or dye my hair outrageous colours. I should have, but I didn't." I laugh – somewhat hysterically, I realise – and let my left hand shudder against my thigh. It's going too fast to actually tap my leg, which is new.

"Alert the press," I say disparagingly. "For her first act of rebellion, ladies and gentlemen, Jo Corcoran is standing up for herself for the first time in her entire life." I take a step forward and glower heavily at Shelby.

"And guess what? I am done with no one listening to me or trusting me even though I have proven over and over and _over_ again that, apart from Ghandi and the Dalai Llama and maybe some other idiots, I am the best person on the face of this fucking planet. And do you know why people don't trust me, Shelby?" Her eyes are starting to freak me out. "They don't trust me because you fucked me up in the head." I feel a sob coming up my throat and cover my mouth with the back of my hand, pressing hard until the feeling passes. Then I continue, my voice traitorously soft.

"And I don't even care that the only thing you will take from this speech is that I am a selfish little ratbag because I am fine with that. It's time for me to be selfish, Shelby, because I've never been given a single good thing in my life. Not from you. You've been walking all over me since I was old enough to feel guilt and understand the words '_why can't you be like Rachel_?' Now," I say, blowing a long breath out of my nostrils like a bull in an attempt to calm myself. I nod at Rachel, whom Shelby is standing in front of still.

"Get the fuck away from my little sister."

Having expunged a decades worth of emotions from my system, my voice is once again strong and steady and I fall a little bit in love with myself at how awesome and in control I sound. I sense the others swooning as well.

When Shelby doesn't move – clearly immune to my powers of amazingness – I growl deep in my throat. (Hey – just because I've voiced and expunged the emotions doesn't mean that they're gone. I'm still furious with the woman.) I don't have the time or the patience for any of her bullshit. I've already dealt with a lifetime of it.

"_Move_, Shelby." In that incredibly cliché way that never seems to happen in real life (in the same genre as slow motion, boob-bouncing, beach running reconciliations) but for some reason is happening right now, my eyes meet my mothers and we have an intense silent communication that leads to an epiphany. Told you. Cliché.

For the first time in my life, I don't give a damn what she says or thinks. No. That's a lie. I do care. I want her to love me and I want her to know that I am special and wonderful and fucking amazing. That being said, I also want: for unicorns to be real so Brittany is happy; for Brittany to be able to talk to all cute, non-deadly animals; for Santana and Quinn to have abruptly loving, wonderful, and present parents/families; for Puckerman to be slightly less inappropriate; for the world to not be full of bigoted, homophobic individuals; for world peace (should that be first?); and for me to be able to live off mnm's, coffee, and gummy bears and suffer no ill effects from that diet.

What was my point? Oh yeah – point is, we don't always get what we want. I acknowledge that she must be seriously sick in the head to not recognise what a great thing she had in me. Still, our eyes lock and she silently tells me that she is going to win this but I don't have to say a fucking thing because I _know_ that I'm going to win this. I deserve that, surely. Plus, I have a gun.

Oh yeah, I have a gun! I raise the gun slowly (dramatically, another part of my brain tells me) and Shelby flinches. Yeah. She understands now that I will probably fire this gun. I gesture with the barrel of the gun to the side and Shelby obediently steps away from Rachel.

"Noah?" He's already running forward and untying the restraints on Rachel. "Thank you. Santana, I would appreciate it if you would contact the police."

"Already did."

"Wonderful." I frown, thinking, at Shelby. "Noah, can you please take Rachel out of this room? Quinn, Brittany, please go with them and find Rachel some food and water." I wait until they are gone and then gesture to the chair with the gun. "Shelby, please take a seat."

She sits, still so obedient, and smiles at me. Her eyes are blank. I have the feeling that when Rachel left the room, so did Shelby's mind. It said 'bye bye'. We have to be careful.

"Do you want me to tie her up?" Dave offers. I shake my head no. I don't want him getting anywhere near her.

"Can I punch her?" Santana asks, practically frothing at the mouth. I frown disapprovingly, the frown intended for Santana but directed at Shelby. I still don't look away. My eyes are getting a little tired from not blinking but I'm good for another twenty minutes or so I think.

"You can't punch her."

"Can I throw things at her?" Santana asks quickly.

"No."

"Can I insult her?" At that one I pause, but then shake my head no again. "Oh come on, Jo. Not even one little insult?" Something in Shelby's eyes flicker again. My heart stops for a second. Something is wrong.

"Santana?" She looks at me, I see in my peripherals. "I need you to stop talking. Then, I need you to go outside and get everyone else. I need you to bring them back in here."

"What?" She rolls her eyes. "Jo, you just sent them out."

"Santana," my voice is deceptively calm. It is deceptive because it doesn't alert Santana or Shelby to the fact that I am about three seconds away from hyperventilating. "Do it." Huffing and rolling her eyes, she stalks out of the room. "What have you got planned, Shelby?" I say quietly. She beams at me.

"Oh, it's a wonderful plan." She crosses her legs and relaxes in the chair. Dave glances worriedly at me. "I take Rachel and you come after her, with or without your friends." She gestures to Dave and smiles. "You came with, obviously." She folds her hands primly on her lap and tilts her head to the side, clearly delighted. "Then there will be some sort of scuffle, during which you will gain the upper hand and take my gun from me. You'll rescue Rachel and, being the good older sister that you are, you'll send her away so she won't see you hurt poor little old me."

My fingers clench on the gun. "This isn't loaded, is it?"

"No," she says gently. "It isn't." She turns to face the doorway and nods to something, someone, there. "But that one is." I lower the gun because, well, it has no purpose now. And then I turn. But I already know who will be standing there.

My dear old father. Michael. And boy, that gun sure is large.

"Hello, father," I say politely.

"Josephine," he grins. "You've been bad, haven't you?" I looked down at the gun and back up at him.

Christ, this will be a story and a half to tell the other dead souls in Hell. No way am I going without a bang. I grin at him broadly. I wonder how many things I can do to annoy him.

"Sure have, Mikey." He frowns.

"You'll treat me with respect, missy. It might have been a few years but I am still your father and you will be polite."

"Sure, Mikey. I'll be polite." I bat my eyelashes. "How are you, daddy? Did you have fun in jail with those other criminals?" I fake concern. "Did you get hurt? I've heard that those kinds of people don't like child abusers."

"I am no child abuser." His face softens and he reaches out to me. "Sweetie, don't you understand? This is for the best."

"What is?" I gesture to his gun. "Killing me? Because, well, you've tried that before and it didn't turn out all that well for you. As I recall, you went to jail." He blanches and I smile. Jail clearly wasn't a five star hotel experience. Good. "You didn't answer my question, Mikey. How _was_ jail? Did you make any friends?"

"Watch yourself, girl," he bites out and I shudder in mock fear.

"Ooh, scary. What are you going to do, Mikey? Shoot me? I'm _so_ scared." He looks at me for a long time, probably trying to decide whether or not I'm actually scared. Then he shrugs.

"Fine. I'll just shoot your friend here." He lifts his gun and levels it at Dave. My eyes widen a little and his lips lift into a smile. It would have been charming if, you know, if he wasn't a dickhead child abuser and if he wasn't aiming a gun at my friend.

"Don't do that," I say. Michael happily lowers the gun. "What do you want?" I am tempted to call him Mikey again but I don't want him to shoot Dave. I can't believe I had forgotten that I wasn't alone…"Father, what do you want?"

He steps forward, further into the room, and sighs. "I want what I've always wanted, Josie. You." I flinch. "You're my little girl. I came back when Shelby needed me for _you_. And I remember," his eyes light up and he gestures somewhere behind him, "walking through that door and I saw you and you were so small and young and I couldn't help but love you. You were so _tiny_ and you just smiled at me." The corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. It makes his face kind. "You let me pick you up and you laughed the cutest little laugh when we played hide and go seek."

He takes another step forward. I know he's approaching me and I can feel the nervous energy radiating off Dave but I can't bring myself to stop him. I can't say anything. I want to listen.

"Josie," he murmurs in a warm voice. I remember that. He was always warm and he had the biggest smile and the loudest laugh. He was the nicest dad when kids came over for play dates. He would let us watch television and gave us ice cream – one scoop more than Shelby wanted us to have – and he would wink at us and tap his nose and we, me and my friends, would try and wink back, screwing our eyes up and smiling until our faces hurt.

"Josie," he says again, only a few paces away from me now. "I came back for you. No one has to be hurt, sweetie." I frown at him and he crosses the distance that remains between us to laugh and tap my nose lightly. "No need to frown like that, sweetheart. You always did think too hard about everything." He smiles and I feel my frown lessen and fade slightly.

"Your mum wants Rachel," Michael admits with a nod. "She has always wanted her. I know that she sometimes came off a little strong but your mum has _always_ loved you, Josie. Really. She really missed Rachel when she was gone and went a little crazy though, didn't she?" I find myself nodding. He laughs heartily, pointing to Shelby. I turn to see a good-natured frown on her face and blink. Well. That's a first. Shelby smiles up at me.

"What do you think, kiddo?" I frown, shaking my head.

"I…I don't understand." Michael lays a hand on my head.

"It's easy, Josie. You, me, your mum, and your sister. We'll be a real family finally. We'll get out of here and have adventures and buy a big house. You can have a library and your own little study." He laughs when my eyes light up.

"What about my friends?"

"They'll be fine," he assures me. "They won't feel a thing."

"Won't…feel a thing?" My frown returns with a vengeance.

Michael sighs. "Josie. You're a smart girl. They can't just go home."

"Why not? We can make them promise not to tell and-"

"No, Josie. That's enough." His tone is stern and I bite my tongue, feeling chastised.

"Excuse me, sir?" Dave speaks up. Michael's eyes move to him and he looks my Dave up and down.

"What is it, boy?"

"Are the others okay?" Dave gestures to the door and Michael smiles.

"Of course. Do you think I would hurt my own daughter?"

And just like that, whatever was happening to me – whatever false emotions I was feeling, whatever memories I'd uncovered that were making me delusional with joy at seeing him, whatever idiotic suggestions my brain was giving me – stopped. Something about that question made me smile. Oh. I remember.

"You have," I say quietly. Michael turns to me.

"What was that, sweetheart?" is it just me or is there a threatening edge to his voice?

"You _have_ hurt your own daughter." I meet his eyes. Sure, I remember that he could be sweet and caring and the best father ever but that was years ago. And then he wasn't. Then he liked the bottle a little too much and the belt. Then I wasn't his precious little girl – I was his precious little girl who constantly misbehaved and needed to be taught a lesson that involved me passing out. And bleeding.

"Josie, you know why I had to do that. You understand that I couldn't let you get away with your behaviour. Now that you're all grown, that won't be a problem. Will it?" Such a kind voice, reassuring. Such a nice man, telling me that it's all my fault. I flinch.

"She never deserved anything you did to her," Dave says. Speaking up is a brave move – but stupid. I just noticed that Michael has had his gun trained on Dave this whole time. Probably so that Dave wouldn't interrupt and break our connection or whatever he was using to convince me that he was right. "She is perfect and wonderful. And all you did was make her doubt that for a few years. But that's what I'm here. And that's what Rachel and Santana and Brittany and Quinn and Puck and Leroy and Hiram and an enormous number of people are here for. To remind her every day that she is strong and brave and fantastic and the best friend anyone could hope for."

Michael dropped the gun a little and stares at him. His eyes narrow. "Are you sleeping with my daughter, boy?"

"No," I snort.

"No?" Michael's eyebrows shoot straight up into his hair line and he looks between us. "Then what are you?"

"He's my best friend, Michael. What to know why there's nothing else between us?" Michael frowns so I continue. "I'm gay. Super gay." He blinks and raises his gun to point at me.

"You're gay?" I look at the gun. Goodbye life. You've been pretty good lately. My hand clenches on the empty gun I'm holding and I wish it was Dave's hand. Then I smile. I have a gun. In my hand. I mean, it's unloaded, sure, but it's still in my hand.

"Sure am daddy dearest." And then, in a combination of an act of defiance and acting fast before he can shoot me, I throw the gun at his head with as much force behind it as I can.

And Jesus, God, Allah, The Jade Emperor, The Holy Spirit, Satan, any other gods or deities or higher spirits out there – hell, the entire universe – must love me because it hit him right between the eyes and he's closed his eyes and grunted once and suddenly keels over.

I dive to the floor and grab the gun that slides out of loose fingers and turn to Shelby, hoisting the gun.

"So. Shelby. This one is loaded, did you say?" I shouldn't have gloated. The universe may have been nice to me that once, what with the lucky strike on the head, but it immediately turns around and fucks me over. Fate is a fickle thing.

"Yes," Shelby says. "And so is that one." She nods and I sigh. Fuck. Michael is climbing to his feet and drawing a pistol from his hip, where it had been hidden by his jacket.

I turn and glare at him. "Fuck. Can't you just stay down? Stay out of my life? I mean, I put you in jail and took out a restraining order on you just in case and here you are again. _Yay._" I say sarcastically, clapping my hands twice. "I hit you in the head with a gun but, hey presto! You're fine."

"You'll show me proper respect, missy!" he demands. This may be the last thing I do but I'm not letting him tell me what to do or what to be or who I can be seen with. Never again.

"No."

Aww fuck. He shot me. He _shot_ me. Fuck fucking fuckity fuck. Shit. I clench my finger on the trigger twice and he falls to the ground groaning, his hands twitching between cupping his shoulder and his thigh. I kick his gun away from him and stand over his body. Was this how he had felt, all those times he'd hurt me? I just feel…sick.

"Oh my god! Jo!" I turn to smile gruesomely at Dave. Not that I _want_ to smile in a gruesome way. I just assume that it is a gruesome smile because _man _my shoulder hurts.

"I'm alright." I frown at Shelby who is subtly shifting away, her eyes darting between me and Michael, and point the gun at her.

"Jo," Dave says but I smile again.

"I'm not going to shoot her, Dave. I know I got a little crazy before but I wouldn't shoot an unarmed person. Can you tie her up, please?" I watch her carefully for any sudden movements, standing in such a manner that I can keep an eye on them and also on Michael and the doorway. I don't want any surprises. Dave straightens from tying her hands and I nod to Michael. "And now him, please."

When they are suitably restrained I jerk my head to the door leading to the kitchen. "Dave, will you go check on the others, please?" _Please god, don't let them be dead._ Dave's eyes widen and he practically sprints out of the room. After a moment I hear a relieved 'they're okay!' and relax a little. And then 'they're unconscious though!' and _bam_ all my tension is back.

"What did you do to them?" I growl at Michael who moans deliriously. I roll my eyes. He won't be any help. "Shelby. What did he do to them?"

"Chloroform, I believe." Finally, something I like about my mother. Even when faced with a gun, she answers questions quickly and succinctly.

I nod. Of course. "Dave, they'll be alright. Just let them sleep for a while. They've been dosed with chloroform."

"Okay!" he shouts back.

"Are you well?" Shelby asks softly, glancing at my shoulder, which is now drenched in blood. Crap. It's throbbing a little as well (read: enormously) and I bite my tongue to stop from moaning like Michael is. "Rachel had a scarf in her bag, if you would like to use that as a tourniquet. It is on the table outside." She is being remarkably helpful. I can't detect anything wrong with her though, for once, or with what she is saying and she _is_ tied up and has a gun pointing at her…

"Dave, can you chuck me the scarf, please?" A small strip of fabric flutters into the room a few seconds later and I grab it, binding it around my shoulder quickly. It hurts, a lot, but I like to think that it's helping a little. Otherwise, what's the point? Then Michael groans again. I step over to him and glare down at him.

"Listen to me, Michael." His eyes peek open and I crouch down. "You are bleeding out quite quickly and I think I may have hit an artery," I tell him. "I am going to apply pressure to your wounds. Do you understand?" He nods. "Good. So you understand that if you try to hurt me in any way, I will just stop applying pressure and you'll bleed out within twenty minutes." He nods again. "Okay then. By the way," I grab his wounds and press down to stem the blood. He screams. "Sorry about the pain."

It's probably about ten minutes until the door is broken down. Then another few minutes before the paramedics get to us. They take Michael first, which is understandable given the fact that he is ashen and there is a sizeable pool of blood surrounding us. It's another minute, in which I stagger upright and lean heavily against the wall, until one bright young paramedic finally realises that I'm injured as well and escorts me to an ambulance. I struggle.

"Dave! Dave, look after everyone!" He nods, eyes wide as they take in the red that is covering me. "Call me," I add cheekily, holding my non-injured hand up to my ear and grinning at him. He nods and lifts a hand to wave goodbye.

The paramedic is frowning at me. So I do what anyone would do. I poke my tongue out and smile. "That's not a happy face."

"Ma'am, you've been _shot._"

"And I'm still alive, so why don't we get this show on the road, get me to a hospital, and make sure that I can go home to my family sometime soon. Sound good?" He looks a midge scared at my fierce tone and nods. "Wonderful. Hop to it."

**So. I won't be updating this story any more…KIDDING! I'm kidding, that was a joke. God, I think I just felt internet eyes glaring at me… *shudder * . No, but I am going on a little holiday that is lacking internet access so I won't be able to update this week. Sorry. But please review! I love your reviews – the good, the bad, the strange, the questions. As always, happy reading, readers :)**


	44. Chapter 44

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Forty-Four**

**Glee isn't mine.**

**Please enjoy.**

Third Person POV

She sits by the bed and just stares. It's strange. She isn't a person who likes to be still: she likes to move and dance and smile and talk and _do_ things. She isn't doing that now.

There is a hand laying just three inches from hers on the white bed sheets. It is lightly tanned and there are two silver scars crisscrossed on the thumb. The nails are trimmed neatly. They are covered in blood. It is a dark colour, "like the ochre on Simba's forehead" she recalls Brittany saying. It is flaking, peeling, and she itches to wash it away.

Her eyes move from the hand all the way up to her face and she flinches, closing her eyes. She looks so _pale._

"Rachel?" She looks up from her sister in the bed and over to Quinn. "What is it?"

"She looks so small," Rachel breathes. "Did you know that she is six centimetres taller than I am?" Quinn shakes her head. "She is. But," Rachel eyes pull away from her friend and return to watching her sister. "It's not because she's tall."

"It's because she's got attitude." Both girls nod to Santana. Their friend has heavy bags under her eyes and she refuses to look at the bed. "She's a bitch and let's everyone know it." Rachel frowns but they can tell that she is just playing a role. She's not paying attention. "Count yourself lucky, Tiny. We've done this twice. You were asleep last time we were in a hospital." Santana grins. "Because you made yourself faint."

"I'm not partial to the sight of blood, thank you very much, Santana."

"She'll be fine, Rach." The diva nods her thanks to Quinn but doesn't move. "You'll see. She'll be back on her feet in no time at all and she'll probably be cussing like a sailor."

Rachel smiles at that but sends a look Santana's way. A devious look. "Really? A sailor? I rather think that Jo is very talented at cussing and may even be at Santana's level of expertise."

"Oh hell no!" is Santana's response to that.

"I don't think anyone can beat Santana when she chooses to be vile," Quinn disagrees immediately, fist bumping Santana with a nod. Rachel narrows her eyes at the pair.

"We'll see." With that apparently the last word in the matter, the girls resume their watch, checking for signs of life in their friend. In the hours that follow, Santana leaves to check on Brittany in their motel room and Quinn on a quest to find some decent coffee.

"This has been horribly dramatic, you know." No response.

"It was quite thrilling, now that I think about it. A kidnapping in the small town of Lima, Ohio? A car chase across America and a violent showdown? Quite thrilling. I dare say that Quinn wouldn't like for me to say that so it'll just stay between you and me, I think." No response.

"It will make an excellent chapter in my autobiography." No response.

"Everyone is fine, did you know that? Quinn and Santana were in just before. They're who you would have heard. Brittany is asleep. The doctors gave her a sleeping pill because she was…" Rachel glances away, down to the still bloody hands of her sister. "Distressed."

"_Let me see her!" Brittany flails wildly, tears streaming down her face._

"_Ma'am, I have to ask you to calm down. Please." Santana wraps her arms around her girlfriend and tugs her back into her chest, whispering frantically in her ear. They sink to the floor, rocking slightly. Santana brushes away her own tears with her shoulder, stroking Brittany's hair gently. _

"_I want to see her, Sanny."_

"_I know," the dark girl croons. "I know, sweetie."_

"Puck and Dave are talking to the police. Or they were, two hours ago. They might be back at the motel by now." No response.

"I'm sorry we didn't warn you about your father. We were somewhat incapacitated, being unconscious. I've no idea how he did it. One moment I was with Quinn and Noah and then the next moment we were…gone. I don't remember anything after that. Not until the second I woke up here." No response.

"Dad and Daddy were beside themselves when they found out what you'd done. Now that everyone is fine, I rather think they might be furious. They want to talk to you." Rachel almost dives forward in her chair, eyes wide, when she sees a finger twitch. Her eyes burn, after a few minutes, from staring at her hand for so long. She sits back in her chair. She saw it; she knows she did.

"The doctors say you'll make a full recovery. You'll be weak for a while and you have to take it easy for about a month, probably longer if Dad and Daddy have their way, while your red blood count replenishes." She slumps a little in her seat and then takes her sisters hand. "You lost a lot of blood, Jo. And they say it's because you decided to save that _bastards_ life rather than look after yourself!" Her voice shakes with anger but it isn't louder than a whisper. A pale hand drops onto Rachel's shoulder.

"Hey, Rach," Quinn murmurs. "I'm back so why don't you get some sleep?"

"No. That's alright." Rachel immediately refuses but Quinn moves so all Rachel can see is her. She crouches in front of her friend and looks up at her with pleading hazel eyes.

"You are exhausted, Rachel." The smaller girl looks away but Quinn grabs her chin. "You are exhausted and upset." She reaches up and brushes a thumb against her puffy eyes. Rachel sighs and leans into her hand. "Get some sleep. I'll sit here and watch Jo for you. I'll talk to her until she wakes up so she knows that someone is nearby. I'll wake you when she wakes up. I promise."

Rachel looks like she's still going to refuse and, suddenly, Quinn's eyes soften even more and she mouths 'please' and Rachel's willpower vanishes. She obediently totters over to a cot that the nurses had kindly set up for them (curiously, having had extreme difficulty trying to say no to a pair of very protective girls and a pair of terrified fathers) and sank into it. Quinn smiles when she sees that Rachel is asleep within three breaths.

The blonde takes her friends place by Jo's bedside and even takes up her staring. She looks over the girl from head to foot – what she can see of it anyway, half hidden by blankets – but the only anomaly is the bright, white bandage over her chest and shoulder.

"She worried about you." No response. "Everyone is, actually," she chuckles. Her fingers clench around her coffee cup and then takes a sip, eyes not straying from the girl. "Rachel hasn't slept since she woke up. Brittany had to be drugged. She was hurting herself trying to get to you." Quinn closes her eyes against the memory and smiles at the prone girl. "Santana told the doctors that if you weren't okay, she was going to 'hunt them down and break their fingers so they will never have the opportunity to perform a substandard operation ever again'. I'm surprised she wasn't arrested – there were about five policemen in the room." No response.

"Leroy and Hiram were terrified. Officer Thompson called them to let them know that _Hudson_," she growls his name, "had helped kidnap her and that Shelby was headed to New York. Hiram said they both just knew what we'd all done so they got in their car and followed us. I texted them when I woke up in the hospital and they yelled at me for a while when they arrived." No response. She takes another sip.

"Rachel probably told you what the doctors said." Her eyes flick to the bandage again. "It's not too bad. I didn't understand a word of what he said about your shoulder but I do know that you're stupid." She smirks. "It wouldn't have been half as bad if you hadn't used it after you'd been shot. Plus, if you'd applied pressure to your shoulder rather than his, you wouldn't have a whole month of bed rest to look forward to." No response.

"Why didn't you call Dave? Why didn't you ask him to help you?" She looks to the door but no one is there so she continues. "He was scared, Jo. Really badly. He said you told him it was just a graze, that you'd be fine. That bullet hit an _artery_, Jo. You are so lucky to be alive."

"You're so weird. Why would you save the life of someone who tried to kill you?" She leans forward, watching Jo's face for any sign that she heard, that she was going to answer. There's nothing.

"The surgery went well. They got the bullet out and, I don't know, stitched everything up? You'll have to wear a sling for a while and you can't use the arm until the doctors say you can go to physical therapy." She stands and, making sure that she isn't awake, brushes her fingers lightly over the white fabric, over her shoulder. "It wasn't far from your heart, you know. You're really lucky." She brushes some hair away from Jo's mouth and sighs.

"I have to keep talking until you're awake, you know. Rachel says that coma patients can hear what their family says and she thinks that it'll be the same for you. I'm pretty sure that you're just asleep and a little bit drugged but if it makes her feel better then I am happy to do it." She grins and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I know. I'm whipped. And you didn't even have to say it." Her face falls – joking with Jo isn't _quite_ the same when the girl isn't conscious.

"I don't know what to say so I'm going to read to you. Is that okay?" She jokingly waits for a response as she pulls out a book from her back. "I didn't know what you were reading but I saw this book in your apartment last time I was over and it was a bit ratty so I bought one. Here we go."

"Chapter One. In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, not yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit hole, and that means comfort. It had a perfectly round door…"

JO POV

Oh god. I feel like hell. My thoughts buzz for a second, painfully so, in my head and another description comes to me. _Fucking Christ._ _I feel like Thor punched me in the shoulder with his hammer. What a fucking dick. _My mouth feels fuzzy too. What on earth happened? The last thing I remember – _wait. Someone's talking to me._

"…rode away amid songs of farewell and with a knowledge of the road they must follow over the Misty Mountains to the land beyond." The same someone reading heaves a sigh and then there is a silence, a cap unscrewing, a swallow, and the turning of a page. "Chapter Four. There were many paths that led up into those mountains, and many passes over them."

"But most of the paths were cheats and deceptions and led nowhere or to bad ends; and most of the passes were infested by evil things and dreadful dangers," I recite, croaking the words. "I love that book. I have most of it memorised. My copy is disgusting. It's tattered – I've read probably read it a hundred times."

I recognise the voice but…I open my eyes and flinch strongly, slamming myself against the metal rail of the bed. And then I groan. "Holy _fuck_." I try to curl myself around my injured shoulder but what I presume are IV cords pull at my skin and I stop, trying to breathe properly.

"Jesus Jo, are you alright?" The girl comes closer, and I flinch again. It's not her fault, not really, but I'll admit to being a little confused. I _know_ her but my eyes are blurring and I can't quite make the connection that tells me who she is. Maybe if I can keep her talking for long enough, I can figure it out.

"Do you read to all the invalids?" I quip with a little smile, pushing myself into a sitting position with my good arm. I can barely move my other arm, which feels like it is on _fire_.

The girl sinks back into her chair and frowns at me. "No, I don't. How are you feeling?" I shrug my shoulder – uninjured (maybe just assume that whenever I say I move my shoulder, it's going to be my uninjured one unless I say otherwise).

"That's something I usually prefer to discuss with my doctor," I say, trying not to offend her before I can figure out why I know her.

"Um, okay." Her hands clench on her thighs and I smile. "The pain isn't too bad though, is it? Because I can get a doctor for you if you want," she offers. I shake my head no. It does hurt, a lot, but I don't want my mind to be foggy. I hate that feeling. Then again, this _is_ the worst pain I've ever felt – worse than that time I broke my leg and a hell of a lot worse than the belt.

"No. It's not too bad." She scrutinises me for a few moments and then, without my consent, presses the call button beside my bed. A nurse strides in and I growl at her but that doesn't stop her from plugging my IV line with a needle and, smiling reassuringly which, to be honest, freaks me out, injects my line full of what I assume to be morphine.

The last thing I see before I slip off into a drug-induced slumber is a face, watching me carefully. And _then_ is the time that my hazy, foggy mind tells me who it is. _Quinn._

THIRD PERSON POV

"I should have expected that you wouldn't remember me," Quinn murmurs when Jo's eyes close. She heaves a few unsteady breaths and shakes her head. "You have no idea what's going on, do you?" She smiles at the prone figure of her friend but it was a little too wide and a little too forced. "I knew it was too good to be true – everything was _good_," she murmurs. "Everything was fine and we succeeded in saving Rach and you promised me that you would be there for me." She laughs. "God, Jo. Can't something ever go right?"

She looks down at Jo before sighing and sinking further back into her chair. She picks up her book and continues until she is interrupted. Again, by Jo.

"Ooh," Jo groans, "it _hurts_." She clutches at her shoulder and whines noisily. Quinn chucks her book to the side and jumps up, circling the bed so that she can soothe Jo and tuck the blankets tightly around her.

"Who are you?" Jo moans, pushing feebly at her. "I don't know you." Quinn squeezes her eyes shut, upset, but forces Jo's arm down and under the blanket, tucking it tightly so she can't move it.

"Jo, it's me. Quinn." Jo's eyes focus fuzzily on Quinn's face and she frowns.

"Quinn?"

"That's right," she soothes. "Quinn. You need to stay still, Jo, alright?" Jo frowns and tugs away from her friend. "Are you okay?"

"Quinn!" Jo beams at her and wriggles her arms out from under the blanket. She pats Quinn's head and, when Quinn rolls her eyes, she giggles and clutches the girls face, squishing her cheeks happily. "Have you made kissy face with Rachie yet, Quinn?"

When Quinn blushes deep red, Jo coos happily and pokes her in the cheek. "Oh, you're so _cute_, Quinn!" Quinn pulls her head back and bats Jo's hands away, more gently with the injured arm, and Jo heaves an enormous sigh. "Silence – the most blatant no _ever_, Quinn. Why are you being so boring?" she whines. "Why didn't you make kissy face?"

"So, why are you being so…"

"_Adorable_?" Jo grins. "I am, aren't I?" She laughs easily and shrugs, wincing absent-mindedly when her stitches tug in her shoulder. "That's because it's finally over."

"What's over, Jo?"

"Everything!" Quinn valiantly attempts to calm Jo and stop her from gesticulating with her hands, further injuring herself, but Jo laughs and waves her away. "Rachie is safe, finally, and Michael is going to jail and I hope Shelby will join him and everyone is safe and I'm alive and you're happy and I'm happy and Rachel is happy but," she mock glares at Quinn, "she'll be happier when you make kissy with her and Sanny and Britt-Britt are happy and Leroy and Hiram are happy and it's wonderful." Jo beams at Quinn. "You are adorable too, did you know that?"

Quinn shifts uncomfortably in her chair. "You aren't flirting with me are you?"

"Nah, I think I'll leave that to Rachie. And trust me, you would know if I were flirting with you." Jo adds a clumsy wink-blink to that, which makes Quinn laugh.

"How would I know, Jo?" Jo giggles at the rhyme and smiles.

"There would be a lot of stuttering and blushing on my behalf and either humour or annoyance on yours. I'm a hopeless flirt." Quinn isn't as sure of that as Jo seems to be (who is waggling her eyebrows at Quinn at the moment). In fact, she is almost 100% certain that the older woman exudes confidence from every pore on her body. She has to have _some_ level of sex appeal—Quinn isn't blind. She's seen the way those girls look at Jo. It's positively lecherous.

"Quinn!" A sharp cry disrupts Quinn's musings and Jo's drugged lolling on the bed. "You promised to wake me up when Jo regained consciousness." Rachel's tone is warm enough but her foot taps with the precision of a ticking bomb. Quinn blanches and turns to face Rachel slowly.

"Rach, I was going to but she woke up before and was really confused and I didn't want to get your hopes up for her to just fall asleep again and I didn't want you to see her like this. "Rachel frowns.

"Like what?"

"Ooh! Rachel!" Jo flings her arms wide, inviting Rachel to give her a hug, but pulls her arms right back in when pain flashes through her shoulder again. "Ouch!"

"I told you to stay still," Quinn reprimands.

To _that_ statement, Jo has an answer that, in her doped state, she thinks is totally appropriate to say. "And I told you to make kissy face with Rachel when we rescued her but did you? No." She pouts heavily and more so when no one is paying attention to her.

Quinn has paled to an ashen hue and Rachel's cheeks are a bright red. "Quinn?" Rachel takes a step towards her friend. "What does she mean?"

"Rach, she's drugged up to her eyebrows," Quinn defends. "You can't take anything she says seriously."

"She hasn't been given stupidity drugs, Quinn, and I don't think she currently has the mental facilities required to fabricate a lie. I believe she is just lacking a filter. Am I right, Jo?"

"Yup. No filter for Jo-Jo. Speaking of, I don't like fish. Did you know that? They have weird eyes that bug out," she opens her eyes wide, "and they give me the shivers." Jo shivers to prove her point. Rachel spares her a smile before turning back to face Quinn.

"See? No filter. So either you can talk to me or I will have my highly drugged up sister tell me."

"I'll tell you anything, Rachie." Jo beams at Rachel and her sister pats her lightly on the head, making Jo push herself into her palm and practically purring with the attention.

"And I will happily take full advantage of that at some later point in time, Jo. But right now I want Quinn to talk to me. Quinn?" She turns her dark eyes on her friend and waits, head tilted curiously to the side.

"I…don't know what she's talking about, Rach," Quinn murmurs, not making eye contact.

Jo blows a loud raspberry and groans. "Liar liar pants on fire!" Rachel claps a hand over her sisters mouth and purses her lips – disappointed, slightly, and a little annoyed – at Quinn.

"Fine. Then I suppose now might not be the best time to tell you that if you _had_ of kissed me the moment you rescued me, I would have happily reciprocated said kiss. And, if you had kissed me earlier or later than said rescue, I would have reciprocated those kisses as well." Her lips soften into a smile when Quinn's head snaps up and she stares, wide-eyed, at Rachel.

"What?"

"I would have kissed you back, Quinn," Rachel states.

"But _why_?"

"Mpfh mm mhmm." Jo tries to explain from behind Rachel's hand, forgetting that it was there, before frowning down at the barrier. She looks up then, betrayed, at her sister before relaxing into her bed. She's pouting though so Rachel takes her hand away. "Thanks." Rachel nods. Jo turns to Quinn. "She _likes_ you, Dumbo." Her forehead creases into a thoughtful frown. "That isn't right. Dumbo is an elephant. Did you know that Dumbo could _fly_?" she says with evident glee before turning away and muttering to herself. "It isn't Dumbo…is it dumbie? Dumdum? Dummie? Yes!" She fist pumps and looks at the girls, delighted. "She _likes_ you, dummie!"

Quinn blinks at the delighted Jo before slowly appraising Rachel's expression. "Rach?" she whispers questioningly.

"Oh for gods sake. Quinn, I told you something at prom last year. Do you remember what I said?" Quinn doesn't give a sign that she heard the question. She just stares at Rachel, so the girl continues. "I said that you were the prettiest girl I'd ever met and that is becoming more and more true with every passing day. You are so beautiful, Quinn." Quinn blushes and Rachel grins that she was the cause. "I also said that you were more than that."

Quinn's eyes glisten suspiciously with what could possibly be tears. Jo stares up at the ceiling as if it was the most important and fascinating thing she had ever seen. Rachel stares as Quinn like she is the most important and fascinating thing she has ever seen.

"You are so much more than just pretty, Quinn. You are the most beautiful person I've ever met. You are smart and brave and strong and funny and sweet and _different_."

"_Rachel_…"

"Yes, Quinn?" Rachel replies sweetly. Quinn gulps and takes a step forward.

"Can I kiss you now?" she murmurs, taking one of Rachel's hands in her own and stroking the back of it with her thumb.

"I would certainly think that you should, Quinn, or I will take it into my own hands and kiss you."

Quinn raises her hands and cups Rachel's cheeks, making Rachel blush very slightly. Quinn licks her lips and leans in. Their eyes flutter closed at the contact and their lips press together lightly – then rip apart in shock when Jo starts clapping loudly and hooting.

"Yeah! Get your girl! Woo-hoo!"

Quinn huffs with disappointment but Rachel just laughs and touches her forehead against Quinn's. She brushes her lips against her girl's cheek before whispering in her ear.

"Quinn Fabray, will you be my girlfriend?"

"Why, Miss Berry, are you asking to go steady with me?" Quinn gasps and Rachel rolls her eyes.

"You are so weird."

"Rachel! Insulting your girlfriend only mere seconds after getting her? I hope this won't be some kind of abusive relationship." Quinn frowns lightly so Rachel punches her on the shoulder and then, linking her hands behind her girlfriend's neck, pulls her down into a proper kiss.

At which point, due to the universe's somewhat unique sense of humour, Santana and Brittany walk into the hospital room.

"Yeah! Get your girl! Woo-hoo!" Santana hoots and Brittany claps loudly, grinning. Jo beams at her friends.

"I know, right? That's what I said."

When Jo struggles to sit herself properly upright, Quinn whispers something to Brittany, who practically sprint over to Jo's injured side and takes the hand of her injured arm. The reason why becomes apparent the next time Jo tries to move her arm. Brittany tightens her hold on Jo's hand and refuses to let her move it. Jo frowns down at her captured hand.

"Does it still work, Britt-Britt?" she asks Brittany, peering down at it and tentatively wiggling her fingers. The blonde smiles and nods, patting the hand again and pressing a gentle kiss to Jo's temple. She gives no sign that hours before she had been in hysterics. Jo beams and snuggles down into her bed, offering her other hand to Santana. Santana happily flops down on the other side of the bed and, not making eye contact with anyone in the room, lazily takes the proffered hand. She waves her other hand at Quinn and Rachel.

"You aren't needed here. Go back to the motel and gets your mack on!" Brittany cheers at the suggestion but Rachel glowers at Santana and, after reluctantly extracting her hand from where her fingers are entangled with Quinn's fingers, crosses her arms.

"Santana, I will not allow you to be vulgar about mine and Quinn's relationship. I require that you retract your comment and-" she pauses when Quinn bends down to whisper in Rachel's ear.

Her whisperings sound a lot like 'I really want to go back to the motel and get my mack on', to which Rachel blushes, her eyes glaze over, she licks her lips, and she turns on her heel and drags Quinn out of the room. Quinn waves at the girls and calls out to Jo to get better soon.

They march right past a bewildered Leroy and Hiram, who raise their brows at their three remaining girls.

"Oh dear. What did poor Quinn do to get Rachel to drag her out of here like that? I hope she won't be lectured for too long." Santana and Brittany just smirk a little – Brittany's smirk looking more like an amused smile because she hasn't quite mastered smirking – but the happily doped-up Jo has no qualms in telling them _exactly_ why their daughter looked like that.

"Quinn sort of, not really, confessed her undying love for Rachel and then they kissed but Sanny and Britt-Britt interrupted so they've gone to the motel to make out but I think that they won't end up making out because Rachel wants Quinn to tell her out aloud that she loves her and not just stutter adorably and avoid eye contact and kiss her." She grins toothily at the men, who take in her words slowly.

"She's drugged, isn't she?" Hiram asks the girls, gesturing subtly at Jo, and they nod. "Right. Lee," he murmurs, "do we have to give Rachel 'The Talk' again? We only gave her the birds and the bees speech – I didn't think we had to do birds and birds or bees and bees speech with Rach."

"I think she'll be fine, Hiram. Besides, what can we tell her about girls?" Leroy asks, causing the three girls to erupt into more or less stifled giggles.

All too suddenly, however, Jo stops laughing and she looks at Leroy and Hiram with badly disguised fear.

"Jo?" Leroy approaches her. "What's wrong?"

"Am I in trouble, daddy?" Leroy blinks in shock – probably to do with being called 'daddy' by Jo – and then frowns in confusion.

"Why would you be in trouble?"

"Well," Hiram rumbles, "it might have something to do with the fact that she and her little friends ran off to New York without telling us to rescue Rachel and then Jo got herself _shot_. Do you have any idea how worried we were, Jo? Not knowing whether you were alright? Whether you'd arrived safely or run into some kind of danger? You were _shot_, Jo!"

Jo flinches away from Hiram and pouts heavily, adopting a defensive mechanism that Rachel had mastered when she was three, and which Jo was only just now attempting. "But dad, daddy…" she starts. She lets her bottom lip tremble a little and Leroy positively melts. He shoves Santana away, who rolls her eyes, and hugs Jo gently, turning his own puppy dog eyes on Hiram. Hiram, unfortunately, remains firm.

"No. Young lady, you are _grounded_. Have you any idea how lucky you are?" His face breaks in front of her, showing exactly how distraught he had been when Quinn had called, terrified, telling them that Jo had been shot. "You could have _died_. You shot someone – and you are very lucky that you have been let off because of the witnesses that say it was purely for self defence. Jo," he sits on her bed and pats her knee. "This could have been so much worse."

Jo looks down at her lap, sobriety returning somewhat, and she nods. "I know. I understand."

"Well then. You're grounded for a month. You will be staying with us," he nods at Leroy, "and we will be monitoring you to make sure that you don't do anything stupid. Like move when you should be in bed rest." He glances at her shoulder and rolls his eyes. "As I suspect you have been doing today because you've pulled a few stitches."

Jo grimaces at the speckles of blood on her previously clean white bandage and nods again. "I understand, Hiram. Thank you."

He nods. "Good. Now," he leans forward, eyes alight with the prospect of gossip. "Tell me all about Quinn and Rachel. How did that start?"

**Hey y'all. Just a couple of chapters left – probably 100% fluff from now on. I hope you liked it. Let me know what you want to see and leave a review. Many thanks for your continued presence. Happy reading, readers :)**


	45. Chapter 45

**Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister: Chapter Forty-Five**

**Glee isn't mine.**

**Please enjoy.**

QUINN POV

"Yo, babes! End of the line." Puck's voice is uncharacteristically gentle as he touches our shoulders to wake us. I grumble at him anyway because I'm feeling much too comfortable to wake up. I had this great dream that Jo had been high on drugs and that she'd told Rachel that I liked her and Rachel told me she liked me and then we made out – _oh my god._ I sit up quickly and turn frantically to find Rachel smiling at me.

"That happened?" She blinks before masking her expression slightly.

"If you are in fact referring to the fact that we partook in a kiss, then yes. That happened." I can tell she's nervous. Hell, even though she's trying to pretend to be neutral, she is so open that I can practically read her thoughts. _'She was tired. She didn't know what she was doing. She doesn't want this_.' Making excuses for me; certain that I didn't want it.

"Thank God," I breathe. "I thought it was just a dream." And then, to put aside her fears, I grab her chin and kiss her again. We only stop when I pull away, remembering that Puckerman had been here a moment ago…and still is, staring at us slack jawed.

"Awesome," he murmurs before blinking and clearly his throat. "Um, I mean, I just…I'll go. Yeah." He drops the car keys into Rachel's waiting palm and walks away. Weird. Maybe he has changed a lot lately. Before he goes too far, though, he turns and yells out "send me some pictures!" and runs before we can hurt him. He hasn't changed too much, then.

"Quinn?" Rachel holds out her hand and I take it. She pulls me to the motel room – hers, shared with me, Santana, and Brittany – and I ignore his lecherous grins from a distance. I ignore Rachel's gaze as well because I swear that girl will be the death of me. She's giving me a look that makes my whole face feel like it's on fire and makes my skin prickle and – god, this is cheesy – every nerve pulls me, gravitates towards her. I can feel that she is _right there_ next to me. So I pull her closer and we walk faster to the room.

Her hand fits so perfectly in mine. I let my eyes close as the fingers of her other hand trail over the back of mine, leaving a pleasant tingling on my skin. So distracted am I, I don't immediately realise that we are in the room until I hear the lock click. I open my eyes quickly and she smiles at my somewhat shyly.

Then comes the most awkward minute of my life. We don't know what to do. I know what I _want_ to do (make out! says my teenage hormones). We shift uncomfortably where we stand, pick at loose threads on our clothes, and avoid eye contact. Awkward.

"Rachel, this is ridiculous," I grumble. Her eyes flash with hurt so I keep talking before I can hurt her anymore. "That's not what I meant. Not this; not us. I mean us being uncomfortable." She smiles. "It's _us_. It's you and me," I say. "I've known you for as long as I can remember and I've liked you for pretty much that whole time. We've been friends for months and we've always had something _more_." I smile and, though my hands are shaking a little, I take her hands in mine. Then I say the dorkiest, most idiotic thing of my life, trying to get her to smile.

"Surprise, I love you!"

"…What?" Not exactly the reaction I was looking for but I guess an almost speechless Rachel Berry isn't too bad. "What?"

"I love you, Rachel," I repeat happily.

"How?" Whoa, déjà vu. This is a dead ringer to our earlier conversation when I couldn't believe she would want to kiss me.

"How? Rachel, how could I not love you?" I grin. "Let me count the ways."

Her face flushes very lightly but the best part is that, behind the uncharacteristic confusion and hesitation, I see happiness. Joy.

"I love your voice, whether you're singing or talking or arguing a point or yelling at me. Your voice is spectacular. But," I add, "that's not all there is to you and I love that. You don't let it define you. You are also kind and selfless and strong and brave and ambitious. You are the most annoying and frustrating person I've _ever_ met and you drive me crazy." She huffs, frowning, but she can't be angry when I'm so happy that she is that, that she does that. "Your eyes light up when you talk about something you're passionate about, or something you love, and it blows me away that you feel so much and that you aren't afraid to show it."

Like I said, Rachel's eyes light up and I squeeze her hands. But I'm not finished. "You amaze me day after day when you show that you are so driven and you never rely on your talent and you practice all the time. And even when we put you down every single day," I swallow convulsively, glance away sadly, "you came back brighter than ever and with more determination. You're so special, Rachel, and I can't help but love you."

Despite having been staring into her eyes almost completely throughout my speech, I hadn't realised that she'd begun to cry until I finished. "Rach," I whisper and wipe her tears away. She brushes my hands away with a watery laugh and a smile and wipes her face by herself, with the back of her hands. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she hiccups, still crying. "I'm just so happy and that was so _beautiful_ and how could you not tell me you were so gifted with words, Quinn Fabray?" She slaps my shoulder lightly and sniffles. "God, you are so perfect." She stares up at me for a long moment before grinning. "I'm not saying it back."

It feels like she's punched me in the gut and I step away from her. She can't just start crying with happiness and tell me that I'm perfect – get my hopes up like that – and tell me that she's not interested. That's not fair!

"No! No, dammit, Quinn. I do, I do feel that way for you, all of it. Exactly how you feel." She wraps her arms around me and kisses my cheek tenderly. "I promise you, I feel it too. But right now, today, here in this room, this has been your moment and nothing could make it more perfect so I'm not going to say it." Her grin widens. "And also, I am Rachel Barbara Berry and spontaneity doesn't work for me like it obviously does for you so I am going to meticulously plan the most amazing," her voice lowers into a husk and she stands on tiptoes to whisper in my ear, "'I love you' ever."

Once I recover from her saying that (and saying it like _that_), I frown. I can't decide whether she is insulting my speech and how I did it or not.

"Quinn," she huffs. "I'm not insulting you or, if I am, I don't mean to. This," she gestures around herself at the motel but never once looks away from me. "is perfect because I'm here with you and you said the most amazing things and you look at me like I'm perfect."

"You are perfect," I say immediately and she happily – I'm not kidding; she does it with a smile – puts her hand over my mouth so I can't say anything more.

"Thank you, darling, but I'm still talking." I roll my eyes. I guess dating her doesn't mean I get to speak. "Words work for you, Quinn. They're what you're good at. But I'm Rachel Berry and I live and breathe music so…" she shrugs and takes her hand away, permitting me to speak.

"So this will be musical as well," I say understandingly. She nods. "Good. I can't think of anything I want more than to hear you sing that you love me."

Rachel's eyes turn devious and I lose my ability to think. "You can't think of _anything_, Quinn?" God, she practically purrs my name. I let myself be pushed down onto the bed without a semblance of struggle and Rachel proceeds to attack me in a most pleasant manner.

JO POV

There's something inexplicably interesting about a perfectly white ceiling. It's simultaneously soothing and interesting; it draws me to find the blemishes. The imperceptible cracks in the paint, the water spots. The mindless act of just _looking_ allows me to think without interruption from other thoughts.

I hate bed rest with a passion. A passion that consumes every other emotion or thought that I could possibly have and turns me into a cranky, irritable, whiney child. It's the worst part of being hurt—worse than the initial pain, worse than the fact that I'm told 'you deserve this', worse than the fact that Michael likes to hurt me in the first place, worse than all of that—because I'm powerless. I'm injured, nigh on helpless, unable to do anything if he comes back to finish me off once and for all.

The only difference between this enforced bed rest and the others is that Michael isn't coming for me. Not this time. I gave my statement this morning (you know, after I came down from what I hear was a rather amusing high thanks to the painkillers) and after an hour or so of questioning, they had what they needed and more. He'll be going to jail for a long, long time – or so I have been assured.

As for Shelby, I'm not so sure. I peel my eyes away from the ceiling and down at the pamphlet clenched in my hand, considering.

"Hey, Jo. What's that?" Santana, as per usual, flops down into the chair. Britt drapes herself a little more elegantly onto Santana's lap. I hand her the pamphlet wordlessly, taking care not to move my shoulder, and return my eyes to the ceiling.

"Mental institution, huh? Is this for you?" San smirks. Britt slaps her girlfriend on the shoulder and frowns adorably. She takes the page and looks at it for a brief moment before handing it back to me.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Jo-Jo?" I glance at her and give her an unsure half-smile, thus answering her question, and then focus yet again on the ceiling. "You know you don't have to." I nod.

"Am I missing something?" Santana asks. "Because I was kidding, Jo. You don't need to go to this place."

"It's not for me," I say. "I was thinking of recommending Shelby for it instead of her going to jail." Santana's face darkens but Britt just nods. "She needs help."

"Help? No, you know who needs help? Me! With rearranging that bitch's face!" Britt strokes San's hair to calm her down and rearranges herself so she is sitting very heavily on her lap.

"Stop it, San. I just…" I look at the pamphlet. "She needs help. I've known that for years but I was never in a position to do anything about it. So if I can help her get what she needs now, then I will." I look away, not wanting to make eye contact with Santana. I can't deal with her bitching about it at the moment or making fun of me.

So when I hear her move, I assume that she's leaving. Imagine my surprise when I feel lips press to my cheek and she takes my hand. She squeezes in a random pattern until I give up and turn to look at her.

"I'm sorry. Sometimes we act so alike that I forget you're not me. And then you do stupid, nice things like this and I'm reminded that you're a Berry and that doing stupid, nice things is kind of genetic for you and Tiny." She smiles. "If this," she gestures to the pamphlet, "is what you want for her, I'm not going to stop you. Me and Britt – we've got your back."

"I…" am lost for words. So I say what is easiest. "Thank you, Santana. Thank you, Brittany."

"Who knows? Maybe Momma Shelby won't be a freak and you'll have a real mommy one day." Britt is so enthusiastically optimistic sometimes that it makes me smile and also want to puke a little bit. Oh, no, wait – I want to puke because my medication has completely worn off now.

We chat for about twenty minutes before they notice that something is wrong. Possibly because I'm sweating bullets, possibly because my jaw is tense.

"Jo?" I try to focus on her face – is that Santana? – I really do try to focus, but the pain is making my eyesight a little blurry. "Jesus Christ, Jo. In the future, stop being an idiot and _tell_ us when you're in pain." I can feel her staring at me and I give her a mostly real reassuring smile.

"Pain? Me? That doesn't happen to awesome people like me." Lie. Evident in the terseness of my voice.

"Oh for fuck's sake. I'll get someone for you, you twat." San says. Then she strides out, but not before frowning heavily at me, and we – Britt and I – watch her go.

"Why didn't you want pain drugs, Jo-Jo?" Britt asks, making me sigh.

"Because I love talking with you guys. Because the drugs make me feel fuzzy and I don't like not remembering what I say." Brittany shrugs.

"Don't worry." She digs in her bag and pulls out a camera. "We've been recording your drugged speeches. They're really funny."

She shows me a short clip of me describing to an extremely entertained Santana how right Brittany was about the indisputable existence of unicorns and how wonderful Brittany is and how clever. I smile but, to be truthful, I can't focus on it. The pain, though I don't want to admit it to anyone, is pretty intense.

It feels like… it feels like someone has found a way to turn the itching of poison ivy into some kind of injection, jabbed a big ass needle into my shoulder, and shot it into my system. Now it's spreading. The burn radiates from the bullet wound (I still can't quite believe that he _shot_ me!) and travels down my arm, so much so that every twitch of muscles, every nerve reaction, makes me want to get this over and done with by cutting off the useless limb.

I _hate _this. I hate feeling weak and helpless!

Brittany must have seen some of this in my expression because, silently, she takes my hand and smiles at me. Her thumb brushes against the back of my hand once, real quick, before staying still. I wonder if she's wearing some kind of different moisturiser on her hands or something because my hand is tingling a little. Maybe I'm allergic…

Brittany doesn't say anything, just hums, and I am content to lie there and ignore the pain by focusing on the feeling of my hand in hers, eyes closed. So intently do I focus that I don't hear the footsteps announcing Santana. I do, however, feel her slip her hand into my free hand and I smile.

"Hey, cripple," she murmurs. "I got a nurse for you, who's super hot by the way," I open my eyes to see an admittedly attractive woman pumping drugs into my IV drip, "so you're welcome."

"Thanks San." As the drugs take effect, I add a little onto the end of that. "Love you, guys." They are going to say something but then a doctor walks in , greying at the temples and with a permanent thoughtful frown, with Leroy and Hiram on his heels.

He grabs the clipboard hanging off the end of my bed, flips through it nodding his head and murmuring to himself, before turning to the men. "As I said, gentlemen. Bed rest, healthy diet, and then the proper recovery period complete with physical therapy and she'll be fine." He nods to me. "Miss." He nods to my girls. "Please excuse me, I have other patients I need to see to. Good to see you awake, Miss Berry." I smile at him a little tensely but he doesn't notice, gone already.

"Your doctor says we can go home tomorrow, Jo," Leroy squeals, beaming. I nod but thankfully don't feel the need to wax poetic on the existence of fantastical creatures like unicorns. I guess they gave me a smaller dose than the last time. "And then you will be in enforced bed rest."

"Oh, come on Leroy," I slur a little as I say it but it's perfectly understandable. "That's not necessary. It doesn't even hurt anymore." Hiram rolls his eyes.

"You were just given very strong pain killers, Jo. Of course it doesn't hurt."

"Right." I nod. "So I'm fine, right? It doesn't hurt."

"Even if it didn't hurt, Jo," and his tone says that he doesn't believe me at all, "you would be on bed rest because you are grounded. _Very_ grounded."

Santana laughs at me – until Leroy turns on her.

"You too, missy. I spoke with the Pierces and you and Brittany will be assisting us by looking after Jo: feeding her, helping her shower and go to the bathroom, dressing her, entertaining her and, most importantly," San's face pales when she realises what he is going to say, "you can't let her out of bed without our say so. Good luck." He smirks. _Leroy_ smirks.

"Nice smirk, Leroy. Did I teach you that?" He sends me a fond look and nods, patting my foot.

"No way!" San has recovered from her shock, clearly. "That's not fair!"

"Hey!" I say, somewhat offended. "What's wrong with looking after me?"

"Oh, come on, Jo. You'll be a horrible patient and you know it." I nod happily. _So true, so true. _Santana continues her tirade. "Having to babysit Jo is even worse than Jo's punishment and we all know she was the instigator of the whole thing!"

I gasp dramatically. "Two things, Bitchy McTraitor! One, that was mean, throwing me under the proverbial bus like that and two, the instigators of this were Shelby and Hudson when they stole our little Rachie and they are both going to jail. So no, your punishment is not worse than the instigators. Also, I was_ shot_," I remind her. "I think you can deal with looking after me for a week."

"A week?" Hiram's laughter booms through the room. "Oh no, sweetie, you are on bed rest for a month."

"A _month_?" Santana and I both yell. "Hell no!" Again, both of us yell in synchronisation.

"Scary," Leroy comments lightly. Hiram nods, a curious expression on his face as he looks between me and Santana and at our joined hands.

"I saved your daughters life!" I yell. "I don't want to be on bed rest for a month." I try to cross my arms, momentarily forgetting that I had ben shot, and force the moan-gasp-scream of pain down and continue glaring at my adoptive fathers.

"I don't see how the two are connected," Hiram says.

"I saved Rachel. You can't punish me for that." I explain smugly.

Leroy smiles at me gently, but with a flicker of 'I'm going to win this conversation' in his eyes. _Scary_. "Nor would we want to," he says. "We are very grateful that Rachel is safe. We can, like we said this morning, ground you for making our hair go prematurely grey, for stealing a car,"

"Acquisitioning," Santana, Brittany, and I say immediately and in unison – we practised that. It wasn't theft.

"Not telling any of us parents where you were going, breaking into someone's home."

"It's my apartment too, actually." My dads glare at me until I cease talking.

"Not thinking to contact the police, endangering the lives of all your friends and Rachel's by being all 'gung-ho' about this, and then getting yourself shot. We can certainly ground you for all of that."

I scrunch up my face in stubborn disagreement but, well, they're kind of right. I _did_ endanger everyone and we didn't tell anyone where we were going and I did kind of get shot…

"Point taken, sir," I yield with a sigh.

Leroy smiles and pats my foot in a fatherly fashion. "Bed rest isn't too bad, Jo. You'll see."

Maybe not with this family—or maybe it will be a different, better kind of torture.

One look at Brittany tells me that she is plotting some sweetly nefarious plans for while I am immobilised. Santana, smirking, is a danger of infinite proportions and will be one to keep an eye on. I have no doubt that Rachel will move her singing practice to my room to a) keep me company and b) so I can tell her what I think. Quinn might not be too bad. She might read with me…

Leroy will take it upon himself to play the daily crosswords with me and make sure I'm twenty pounds heavier by the time I recover. Hiram will want to talk and show me his recent work ad nauseam. Dave will be his normal fantastic self and we'll no doubt have fun. Puckerman will use my inability to move from the bed as his sign that he can bring over his 'special magazine' collection and ask me what I think. God save me.

Actually, this isn't sounding all that bad. So long as I don't get diabetes from Leroy's endless supply of sugary goods, or claw my eyes out courtesy of Puckerman's collection, I think I should be fine. We'll see.

**Two months later:**

JO POV

I survived, clearly.

Let's see…what has happened in the time since? Well, Rachel and Quinn are nauseatingly adorable together still, and a little too touchy feely for a big sister like me to be comfortable with. I've had to hose those two down numerous times. Literally. With a hose.

Leroy and Hiram are still the greatest dads in the world. True to my prediction, I had gained an enormous amount of weight due to my lack of self control and the constant stream of delicious baked goods Leroy happily supplied me with.

Santana and Brittany are still the most loved up (and by that I mean both emotionally and sexually – trust me, they were in our guest room for three weeks. We heard them) couple in existence, all the while managing to confuse me with look and touches and I'm tired of not knowing what's going on there, with us. Not that anything will happen – they are my students and they are dating one another. I'll just have to ignore the little flutter in my chest whenever I'm with them and forget about them when I move to New York.

Dave is my best friend. He probably will be forever. He still lives in our apartment, without me at the moment but I'm moving in soon, despite the fact that his father asked him back.

"_Dave, Leroy and Hiram are at the shops. Can you answer the door?" He looks up from his textbooks, frazzled, but gives me a smile regardless and nods. He's gone for just a few moments when I hear his booming 'what are you doing here?' The reply is too quiet for me to know who is at the door and, due to my irrepressible desire to _know_, I hop out of bed (ignoring the twinge in my shoulder) and descend the stairs. I stop when I recognise his dad's face. _

"_Please Dave. I want you to come home." Dave looks at the floor. _

"_Is Mum still there?" His dad hesitates before exhaling heavily. _

"_Yes. She is. But-"_

"_No, Dad. I'm not going back. Not while she's there. She's made it perfectly clear what she thinks about me and I'm not going to let her hurt me again."_

"_You can't live with that friend of yours forever, Dave! You can't impose on her like that." I want to intervene but I know that Dave needs to do this for himself. That being said, how dare that man speak on my behalf? If I had wanted Dave gone, I would have told him to go!_

"_I'm not imposing, Dad. Jo is my best friend and she's happy to have me live with her." Damn straight! (No pun intended.) "If she wasn't, she would have told me." My god, it's like we have some kind of telepathic bond. "Just like my mother told me she didn't want me back in her house ever again. I'm not going back, Dad. Not yet. Maybe not ever."_

_Now that he's defended himself, it's my turn to defend him. "Dave is welcome in my house, Mr Karofsky. Forever, if he so chooses. He is a wonderful young man and your wife's loss is very much my gain. I feel blessed to have a friend like Dave." I pause, letting Dave give me a look saying 'laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?' to which I grin, and then I say something I've been considering for quite some time. "I'm sure that, if you and Dave come to some agreement, that you would be welcome to visit from time to time. That's for you and Dave to discuss. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go back to my enforced bed rest." I don't move, though, and instead I stare at him so the incredibly subtle 'leave now' glare I am giving him is very persuasive. _

Not much else has happened. Oh, Will Schuester returned from his suspension thoroughly chastised and, between him and myself, we led the New Directions to an overwhelming victory at that competition of theirs.

Michael is safely behind bars, Finn Hudson joining him _finally_, and I ended up sending Shelby to the psychiatric institution in the hope that she would fix herself. No good news from there yet but here's to hoping.

"Hey, Jo, what are you doing?" I look up from my packed bag to the doorway, where Santana, Brittany, and Quinn are looking in at me.

"Oh, hey guys." I don't move to hide the bag but I want to and I have the uneasy feeling that they know that. Santana frowns.

"Leaving?"

"Just going back to my apartment," I say, offering nothing more.

"Which one? The one with Dave in it which we can visit every day or the one in New York?" My shifting eyes and non-answer is answer enough for them. "Why would you go to New York? We've still got a few months left of school and then we can all go to the big city together."

"Yeah, Jo-Jo. Don't go without us."

"You don't need me," I say weakly. "There's no point for me to stay."

"We might not need you, Jo, but we do want you here." It's Quinn who says that, and I give her a little smile. That happened too – we've become a little closer, what with me helping her through that panic attack and being Rachel's older sister and her living with us and all that.

"I want you to tutor me, Jo-Jo." Brittany sits herself on the bed and flings herself at me, no longer mindful of the old bullet injury. I barely feel it myself anymore, other than in the mornings when the still-red scar is visible as I dress myself and I don't resist the morbid urge to poke and prod at it, testing it for residual pain.

"You do?" She nods.

"And I want you to stay with us." Santana leans against the doorway and raises a perfect brow at me. "Are you actually thinking of leaving?"

I shrug. "I was going to go ahead. Maybe set up the stuff for you guys, get a job, furnish the apartment." I smile hesitantly. "Is that a bad idea?"

Her face softens and she shakes her head no. "Not a bad idea. Just stupid. We want you here, idiot, not off making our life a little easier." She steps into the room and presses her lips to mine. "Make a decision." Ignoring my very wide eyes, she leaves. I turn to Brittany who, despite being adorable, is known for being very protective of her girlfriend. She just gives me a fleeting kiss, the twin of Santana's, and darts out of the room after her girlfriend.

I look at the remaining girl, Quinn, who grins at me. "Q? Do you know what that's about?" She shrugs. "Oh, yeah, thanks. Super helpful."

"What would I know about them really liking you? Nothing much, that's for sure." I shoot her a look – thoughtful and long – before smiling. I stand and sling my (now uninjured) arm around my friends' neck happily.

"Movie night?" She nods. "What are we watching?"

I leave the bag there. Dave will happily come by and put it in his car for me, probably watch a few movies as well. I mean, I can't stay with my dads in their house forever. _But_, I think as I settle into the couch with my friends, _I could probably stay with these people forever. _

**I just want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read this story. It has been so much fun to write and I hope that you've enjoyed it. It was last updated on the 3****rd**** of March, 2013, but if you are reading this at any point in the future, well, I'm a writer, people. I want reviews. I'd love to hear what you think about my story at any point. Many thanks, and as usual: happy reading, readers :)**


	46. Chapter 46

**Authors Note:**

I am considering writing a sequel to 'Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister'. I know that a number of you, my wonderful followers, readers, reviewers, are interested because you have expressed as much, and I am hugely flattered. However, the sequel would not be like 'Rachel Berry, Meet Your Sister' as that was an epic (for me) year long adventure and with going into my second year of university, I have neither the time nor the energy for that. What I do have is an extraordinary capacity for procrastination. For this reason, I would absolutely _love_ it if you would send me ideas for one shots that you would like to see for the sequel – titled 'The Perks of Being Awesome' – which I shall compile into a relatively chronological order, put my own twist on them, and send them out into the internet expanse happily.

If you are interested, you can post a review with an idea or you can Private Message me at any time. I will credit you for your idea (unless you ask otherwise) at the start of the chapter and dedicate it to you.

I hope you all have a marvellous day, month, year, and existence. Happy reading, readers :)


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